


Don't Give Me Those Eyes

by make_this_feel_like_home



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Extramarital Affairs, Famous Harry, M/M, Songwriter Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 64,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/make_this_feel_like_home/pseuds/make_this_feel_like_home
Summary: On the heels of his first highly successful album, Harry Styles is stuck. Stuck in a mold that he isn't quite sure he fits. Stuck in a marriage that isn't so much crumbling as it is evaporating. His record label wants more—more chart topping hits that fit in a bit better with the poppy sounds of today's top 40—not the classic rock infused songs that run in Harry's blood. So, once its clear to his record exec (and father-in-law) that Harry isn't capable of writing those songs himself, he brings out the big guns.Enter Louis Tomlinson: multi-Grammy award winning songwriter and producer. Heard a song on the radio? Louis probably had a hand in it's creation. Louis knows how to write a hit, knows how to pump out dozens a year, but the one thing he never learned was how to balance a career and a love-life.So, Harry gets shipped off to Las Vegas by his father-in-law for three weeks to write his next album with none other than Louis. Falling for a married man—falling period—wasn't a part of Louis' plan, but Harry Styles was nothing like what he'd been expecting.Or, the one where Harry is a married popstar and the universe just has really bad timing.





	1. Two Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on the James Blunt song Don't Give Me Those Eyes and I've been planning this idea for awhile. I was going to try to give myself a longer break because I exhausted myself powering through Save Myself which I just finished a few weeks ago....but here I am. Eh. 
> 
> My plan is to keep this much more minimal than my last endeavour...so nowhere near 200000 words....but you know. I can't really condense things. Its not my forte. So lets see how many words I can cram into 11 chapters!

_Tastes so sweet, looks so real_

  
_Sounds like something that I used to feel_

  
_But I can't touch what I see_

 

_..._

Louis Tomlinson was kind of a big deal. He’d written half of the songs nominated for Grammy’s for the last…what? 10 years or so? He’d produced countless number one’s and written half of the pop music that played on the radio. His CV probably boasted more than Harry could ever hope for in the entire future of his career. He was probably the most well connected, talented person in the music industry and on the heels of his first album (which really _was_ doing quite well), Harry was not, in no way freaking the fuck out or incredibly intimidated. He was sitting in the first class section of a plane from London and he was only about 20 minutes away from landing in Las Vegas and about 3 hours away from meeting said well connected and talented man. 

Nope. He was not freaking out at all. 

He had no real reason to be so freaked out, because his first album had catapulted him to fame that was greater than anything he’d imagined while playing in that shitty cover band he was in as a teenager. Now his dreams had all been exceeded and most of the time it just felt like he was along for the ride. That seemed to be the trend in his life. He did as he was told, went along with the flow, kept quiet and nodded agreement to all the people who knew better than him what he wanted. 

So, realistically, after all the things he’d been through and the successes he’d had, there was no real founded reason for him to be so bloody intimidated by Louis Tomlinson. He was just another tool that Rick was using to build the Harry Styles empire of his dreams. He was just another piece in the puzzle and he would just help solidify Harry’s success. He’d write him a number one hit—hell, maybe a number one _album_ —and then Harry’s life would continue along in the same fashion that it had been for the last two years. He’d shoot videos, he’d tour, he’d make appearances on red carpets and smile pretty for the ever-present cameras and life would go on. 

Spending three weeks in Las Vegas with Louis Tomlinson should not have been the thing that freaked Harry out—but he was kind of a mess at the whole thing. The approach to his last album had been…fairly hands off. People had brought him songs, Rick had assured him that they fit the image they planned to sell. Harry had been lucky, though, Rick had assured him. They had let him have more creative control than they typically did on a first album. Sure, none of the singles had been his doing, but they’d let him write a lot of the lyrics and even a few tracks on the extended addition had been ones he’d written. They’d never get the radio play, but they were there and that was something to be proud of, wasn’t it?

But now, looking back on it, he was green. He was still new to this whole industry and it didn’t matter that his face was plastered all over the teen beat magazines across the world, because that wasn’t what this was about. This was about him being able to _finally_ prove his chops. Prove that he didn’t need an army of ghost writers to sit next to him in a room while he ‘wrote’ his songs. Now his father-in-law was letting him make a solid effort. He had set Louis up with a handful of big-time writers and had instructed him to make a real, honest effort to write an album he could be proud of. This was his chance. This was his chance to prove himself and…Louis was just the first step on that path. If Louis didn’t see potential there, he’d report back to Rick and they’d tighten his chain again. He needed this, he needed this chance to prove that he was more than just the bubblegum popstar everyone had panted him as. He wanted to write something he was proud of—and that was the difference between Rick and himself from the get-go. For Rick it had always been about sales, about building up to selling out arenas. He didn’t care about what Harry sang, just as long as people were streaming them enough. 

It was a though place to be, because Harry wasn’t proud of the work he’d put out into the world. He felt like a sham. People looked up to him and bought into the image that his label was selling, but Harry wasn’t proud. The music he made wasn’t anything he would listen to and that was a major source of stress for him. 

But, now he had a shot. Now he was getting three weeks of one on one writing time in the desert with the biggest name in the music world and that had to count for something. Someone out there had to believe that he had something to offer if they were finally giving him the chance to write. 

He really needed to stop stressing.

The flight attendant came by then, reaching out to take away his almost empty glass of wine. The pilot came over the speaker announcing that they were going to start decending. There was a sort of fear in the pit of Harry’s stomach, because what if Louis was just like everyone else? He gripped onto his old leather journal—the place where he’d been writing down lyrics for the last chaotic year of his life. What if Louis just wanted to cram him right into the same mold? What if he had been instructed to just take the reigns and suffocate Harry even more? What if this whole thing wasn’t about Harry writing _his_ album, but about writing a number one?

Harry was so sick of suffocating. His whole life was so far out of his control, and this idea that he was finally being given some semblance of power over his own career was the only thing that was holding him together. He really had no right to feel like he was suffocating, because there were so many people in his life who just wanted to make sure that he was successful. 

Except, he was suffocating. 

Every single part of his life was a mess and he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had enough of a day off to sit in his mum’s kitchen and sip tea with her while they talked about all the people in his home town. He wanted that, though. He wanted a tiny little break to remember why he was even doing this whole thing. At least now he was getting a break from Caitlin…

 _Shit._ No. He wasn’t supposed to think like that. He didn’t need a break from Caitlin. She didn’t drive him crazy. He drove himself crazy. It had nothing to do with her. 

Or that fucking contract. 

But, no, he wasn’t going to think about that. Not right then. He was going to spend 3 weeks with Louis Tomlinson writing his best songs yet and he wasn’t going to think about how miserable and controlled his life was. It would be somewhat of a break for him, and when he emerged and returned to London and his wife, things were going to be better because a bit of distance was exactly what they needed. 

See, the thing was, that Harry had never considered before signing his contracts and starting this whole adventure, was that the fame machine changed people. It had changed him a lot. When he’d been younger, he’d been so soft and carefree and laughter was something that had always come easily for him. Now though? Now he was constantly under scrutiny and he hadn’t quite figured out how to deal with it. Every time he walked out of his front door his motives were up for debate and in that last couple of months, even he saw the change. There was no lustre to his eyes anymore and he was always deadpan in his interviews and no one could make him laugh. Harry couldn’t remember when the last time was that he’d honestly found anything funny. 

He was trapped in a life that didn’t really fit him. The worst part was it was all his own doing. It was everything that he’d thought he’d wanted. 

…

 

It was half passed one and Louis was finally rolling out of the bed in his studio. He fumbled toward the kettle and flicked it on. There was absolutely no way for him to function before he had at least two cups of tea. He’d been out late last night at a gig of Steve’s and they’d come back to his studio and worked on a few things until the wee hours of the morning and polished off a bottle of Grey Goose somewhere in the midst of it. Louis rubbed his hand across his face, scratching at the stubble that dusted his cheeks. He was always busy. This was the reason his home and his studio had blurred into one clusterfuck of a place, but sometimes he wished he had somewhere to escape that was a bit more of a sanctuary to him. 

But, as he waited for the kettle, he found himself instinctively sitting down in front of his iMac and pulling up the track that he and Steve had been working on for most of the night. It was so easy for him to get lost in this world. It was what he did. Writing and producing weren’t just his job. They were pieces of him. It was who he was and time and time again he’d chosen them over anything. It had been at least five years since Louis had so much as gone on a date. It had been even longer since he’d gone on a vacation. Unless producing that one album in the studio in Tahiti counted… everyone told him it didn’t, but it _had_ felt like a break at the time. 

Now though, as he ran through the song and he tried to figure out whether or not the bridge needed an extra drum loop, he remembered just how much a part of him this whole thing was. His computer, his studio, they were just extensions of him. It was nearly 20 minutes of playing with the song before he realized that the kettle had been screaming at him for the majority of the time. 

Yeah, maybe in theory Louis needed a break, but he’d probably never take it because getting lost in his music was all he had. It wasn’t a sad thing, either. It was who he was and he’d watched things crumble around him while he’d texted past boyfriends _“only a few more hours”, “just have to finish this verse” or “I can’t tonight, i’ll be at the studio late”._ The world could have crumbled around him, but as long as his studio wasn’t a part of that, Louis probably wouldn’t notice.

Was that a bad thing?

It was probably a bad thing…his mum certainly thought so. 

But now that he’d finally turned thirty and things in his life were settled exactly how he liked them, he’d started to accept it. He’d started to be able to brush off his mother’s comments about how he never came home to visit and about how he wasn’t married and didn’t have any babies. He’d accepted that this was the person he was meant to be and that being a part of the music industry was enough. He didn’t need more than that. Sure, it was hard to be the person who always disappointed others when his work life outweighed everything else, but he’d gotten good at that too. He didn’t mind it. Louis was who he was and there wasn’t a soul out there who was going to change him, and that was fine because he didn’t have regrets. He was happy and successful and that’s all that mattered. 

 

…

 

Harry was sweating to death. Vegas was hot, and just walking from the airport to the Range Rover was enough for his forehead to break out into a sweat. He was an English boy through and through and he really wasn’t cut out for this sort of weather. There were cameras at the airport and three fans had already stopped to take a photo with him, but he was exhausted. All he could think to hope for was that Louis Tomlinson’s studio had air con. It had to, right? Vegas was going to be exhausting.

Caitlin had already texted him 20 times since he’d landed and he was trying really hard not to be annoyed by that…but, well, he was. 

The thing about Harry’s life was that he’d fucked it up. He knew this. As a child the only dream he’d ever had for a long as he could remember was that he would be a rock star some day. He wanted to tour the world and sell records and he’d been so blinded by what he wanted that life to be that he’d kind of been willing to do anything to get there. He wasn’t sure if that made him an awful person or not. 

He’d met Caitlin when they were eighteen. At first, he hadn’t been interested at all. He’d been playing in a band with one of his best mates and a few other rotating members and dropping off their demos to anyone who would take them. They’d played at some skanky pub in Manchester and Caitlin had been there. She was interested in him immediately, but Harry had blown her off. She’d come back the following night to his next gig and finally caught Harry alone while he was outside cooling down after their set. She’d complimented his music, but Harry hadn’t been interested in her. 

That was until she’d informed him that her father was a big time record executive at one of the biggest labels in London. 

That made Harry a horrible person. He knew that. But for the first while, he really had learned to like her. She might not have been the love of his life, but they’d fit in a surprising amount of ways. It almost worked. That was until they’d turned nineteen and her father had basically lined it up for Harry: _I’ll sign you to my label, but you have to marry my daughter._

It was such a stupid thing, too. Harry had known it from the word go, but he’d been so blinded by promises of big name writers and fancy studios and word tours that he’d agreed to it. He and Caitlin had been married now for just over a two years and things had gone south pretty quickly. 

The thing was, though, that he had signed that record deal. He had pretty much signed it in his blood and he’d promised five albums to her father and even though they weren’t in love anymore (and maybe never had been), he was bound to her. His whole career would fall apart if he walked away from her. It was only because of his father-in-law that he’d even ended up there in Vegas with a giant opportunity dangled in front of him. 

He was miserable and stuck. He debated daily whether it was even worth it anymore. It had always been his dream, but maybe now he didn’t care. Maybe he’d breach his contract, lose everything he had and move back in with his mum. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

But he didn’t want to let everyone down. He didn’t want to face the lawyers while Caitlin took him for everything he was worth. And maybe she’d be right to do that because it had never been real for him. He’d faked the whole thing so that he could get a record deal. 

That basically made him the scum of the earth. 

 

…

 

After he’d finished his second cup of tea and listened to the song back for the millionth time since he and Steve had started fiddling with it the night before, he closed the program. He opened iTunes and hit play on Harry Styles’ album. If he was going to write with this new kid, he’d have to get some sort of idea where he was coming from. 

He was nearly to the bottom of his third cup of tea when he hit the last song on the album. _Olivia._ It stood out to him and Harry’s voice left a haunting feeling that ran down his spine. There was a surprising amount of depth veiled between the commercialized pop sound that rested heavily on most parts of the album. Maybe Louis had been wrong to write off Harry internally as nothing more than _What Makes You Beautiful._

Because he’d been around the block a time or two and had written his fair-share of songs with his fair share of people, Louis suspected heavily that this album was not very much a reflection of what Harry wanted to be. There was something hiding behind the last song on the album, a promise of something more than what he’d shown. 

He clicked the song and opened up the info box for _Olivia_ and found only two names listed there—Harry Styles and Mitch Rowland. 

Hmm. Curious. Almost all of the other songs, as he flicked back had Harry’s name listed last, probably as a courtesy. He’d been in writing sessions just like that more times than he could remember. He and a couple of other big name writers would sit in a room with the artist and write a song in front of them while they nodded their head and they’d get their name slapped on the credits to make them look better. 

Louis could see it, written in the credits of the songs. Harry hadn’t touched much of this record at all, but somehow he and this Mitch person had pulled out a exceptionally different song and tacked it on at the end. It was strange. It didn’t fit the bill, and it certainly didn’t fit the sort of stuff Louis typically wrote either. 

So he could see how it was. He’d been asked to lead Harry’s clear and obvious writing ability down a bit more of a main street. That was pretty obvious. Harry could write, but he wasn’t writing what the rest of the world wanted to hear and that was clearly a problem for his label. 

Sometimes, this industry exhausted Louis. He’d been in it awhile and it was always something like this. Why did they want to shove Harry into the same box as everyone else? Why was everyone so afraid of something different? 

A small rush of excitement ran through him. This wasn’t the typical sort of music he dabbled in, and even though he’d been given plenty of instruction from the record label that had contracted him to help Harry, he found himself willing to ignore a good portion of it. There was something deep and honest about Harry’s words. It felt like something that had come from someone who had been around the block a time or two. It was intriguing and there was a sort of integrity to it that Louis didn’t particularly want to mess with. Harry knew his voice and who was Louis to try to softly guide him away from that so he could top the charts with lifeless poppy hits? 

There was a soft flutter of disobedience that ran through Louis. They were putting him in a box just as much as they were Harry, weren’t they? They had contracted him to pull pop songs from Harry because they knew he knew how to sell things to the radio. They knew that he could craft a hit, but dammit, Louis was no one trick pony. If Harry didn’t want to write a pop song? Well, fine then. Louis could help him write a brilliant album that actually stood out from the pack. They could write dozens of songs just like _Olivia_ and who could stop them?

Mischief was already brewing in Louis’ veins. Something _different_. How great would that be? Sure, he loved his work. It was his entire life. He’d given up everything to have the thriving career he had, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to step out of his box. That didn’t mean that he _couldn’t_ write a bloody brilliant rock album. 

Really, there was nothing wrong with pop hits—Louis lived and breathed them—but Harry had his own voice and it wasn’t the sort that Louis was used to. He was excited. Three weeks of writing with a fresh new British face who’s roots seemed indicative of Bowie, the Stones and the Beatles? It was promising. Sure, Harry was only a kid, but he’d seen some things. That was obvious from his songs and Louis wanted to learn about it. 

 

The knock came pretty quickly after Louis took his last sip of tea. _Shit._ He hadn’t really even had a chance to tidy things up. Whatever. First impressions might as well be accurate. Louis was messy, and three weeks of working together meant that at some point Harry was going to see that. 

He put his mug (which had a picture of his mum and siblings on it) next to the sink and made his way to the door. When he opened the door, standing on the other side was Harry. He was surprisingly tall and lean in comparison to what Louis had expected. Harry was wearing tan boots with a heel that only added to their height difference. His jeans were so tight that they couldn’t possibly be comfortable, especially considering it was well over 30 degrees outside. He was wearing the epitome of a tourist shirt, it was blue and covered in flamingo print. He wore it mostly unbuttoned, revealing his smooth and tattooed skin and leaving very little of his pecs to Louis’ imagination. He had sunglasses on, but upon Louis opening the door, he pushed them up onto his head, pushing back his loose, short curls and revealing soft green eyes. 

Well. Of all the things that Louis had been expecting, he really hadn’t been expecting Harry to be something that was torn out of some kind of wet dream he’d had once, but hey. Here they were, Louis just barely showered, exhausted from his regular routine of never sleeping with a face that hadn’t seen a razor in days (maybe a week— _oops_ ) and Harry looking like a fucking vision. 

“Harry, come in,” he tried to sound professional, because regardless of the fact that Harry was gorgeous, he was still the older more professional one in this situation and he’d do well to remember this fact. 

Harry smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes and reached his hand out to Louis, “hello Louis, I’m really glad to meet you.”

The words were polite and they seemed like exactly what Louis would expect to hear from someone he was meeting for the first time, and that was just the problem wasn’t it? Harry wasn’t acting authentically. He was going through the motions based on what was expected of him— _just like his album._

Louis really needed to stop heading down this path because it was exactly the sort of thing that would kick his saviour complex into overdrive. Louis had a really bad habit of wanting to save everyone around him. He blamed it on the fact that he’d grown up with a young mother who was always more of a friend than anything else. He’d been fairly old when she’d started pumping out sisters in rapid succession and he’d also started taking care of them. Hell, he still did. Even though he was on a different continent he did everything he could for his girls. Fizzy could call him in the middle of the night crying about how she had nothing to wear to her Christmas party and before she even finished the story he’d be halfway through e-transferring her £100. 

So, yeah, Louis liked taking care of people. It was a thing he had done for as long as he could remember and he’d do well to remind himself that Harry had in no way _asked_ to be saved. So he needed to bring his thoughts down a couple of notches. 

Louis stepped back and let Harry through the door. Harry stood awkwardly near the door way, staring out across the studio. “So this is where the magic happens. Where Grammy’s are born and all that.”

Again, it almost felt like Harry was _trying_ to be funny. Not like he meant it. Was Louis meant to laugh and say “yep” to words that felt so empty? 

Also, another thing that he shouldn’t have been thinking about was the rough hint to Harry’s voice. The slow way he spoke and the way he stood in the doorway like he didn’t really know what was next. He’d seen Harry on the telly a million times he’d always seemed so _collected_ and put together. Real life though? That Harry was different. This Harry seemed much more quiet and reserved. He didn’t have the confident air about him that had been so easily portrayed in the magazines and television shows. He was out of his element, that was certain. He seemed…nervous. 

Harry’s eyes settled on the bed in the back of the room, “you sleep here?” he asked, a bit dumbfounded. 

Louis shrugged, “I used to have a house, but I was never there.”

“Well, I suppose that explains why half the songs on the radio are yours. You’re a workaholic, aren’t you?”

Louis felt himself smile at the words, “guilty as charged.”

Harry’s eyes met his, then—for real this time. They shimmered with a restrained sort of humour sparkling in them. Louis could easily see himself obsessing over dragging out that humour. He could also see himself obsessing over the puffy, pink lips that were peeled back to reveal a row of straight, white teeth. There was also one, _very_ troubling feature that was collecting all of Louis’ attention—a huge dimple on the left side of his face. Louis resisted every urge inside of him to reach out and touch it. That would be bordering on way more than creepy. It would probably lead to a restraining order, too. 

Restraint. That was something that Louis was forgetting he had. Harry had been in his house for a total of one minute and he was already melting into a pool on the floor. His eyes lingering too long on every available feature on Harry’s body—namely his arse, his dimple, his narrow hips and his fucking endearingly curly hair…

Honestly, Louis wasn’t even sure that it was possible to be that level or cute in the same breath as being sultry and sexy—but there was Harry Styles. The paradox. 

Dammit. This whole thing was going to be a fucking mess because Louis was really only thinking with his dick. The whole thing might be doomed. Louis was going to sit by and write songs while he dreamed about snogging this man who was probably just barely out of his teens. Fuck. 

Harry rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes, his hands behind his back as he stared out at the studio. Louis’ eyes scanned him, despite how much he tried to tell them not to. His eyes rested on Harry’s bum, which was really hard to look away from honestly. He wasn’t really sure how to start this. He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to look anywhere but Harry’s backside and walked into the room. He led Harry to where the couches were and took his seat, waiting for Harry to sit across from him. 

He tried _really_ hard not to get his breath stuck in his throat when he realized how Harry’s tight jeans outlined his length. And, well, really “length” was kind of the only way to describe it because…it was huge. Louis’ mouth was practically watering and this was probably going to be the longest three weeks of his life. He could see it now, when Harry left and he leaned against the shower wall coming to just the thought of Harry’s perfect lips wrapped around him. He shook the visual from his mind and attempted to make eye contact with Harry. 

“I listened to your album,” he started, “have you given much thought about the direction you want to be heading for the next one?”

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek a little, staring across at Louis, “um,” he started, “I know the direction my label wants me to go in.”

Louis leaned back in his chair, a grin set in place, “well, fuck that. That isn’t the question I asked you.”

Harry’s lips twitched a bit and something happened to his eyes. They glistened. _Fuck, Louis_. _People’s eyes don’t glisten._ “I want to make a good record. One I’m proud of. Not one people are going to forget in five years.”

“Like Olivia.” 

It wasn’t a question. Harry answered it like it was. 

“You’d never hear that song on the radio.”

Louis scoffed.

Harry’s brow furrowed, “its true. That’s why its an _album_ track.”

“Well,” began Louis, because it was pretty clear he’d have to chip away pretty hard in order to tap into something less rehearsed with this boy (let it be known that Louis was a saviour that _also_ appreciated a good challenge), “I listened to your whole album and, I’m not saying it’s crap…but I didn’t see _you_ anywhere in it until I heard that song. Anyone could have been singing the rest of it.”

Harry opened his mouth in shock, paused then sucked in a long breath before pressing his lips together. Now, _that_ was a reaction. There had been a flicker of something— _passion_ —in his eyes. Good. Progress. 

“And I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. Half the people in the top 40 don’t write their own stuff. It’s normal, but I just get the impression that that isn’t what you want for yourself. Am I wrong? Are you just here to sit in the room with me while I _tell_ you what to sing?”

Harry huffed and Louis wasn’t really sure if it was anger or amusement behind the gesture. Finally, he shook his head curtly. “No,” was all he said. 

Louis smiled. He’d touched it. He’d already prodded enough to spark several reactions in Harry. Maybe this wasn’t going to be much of a challenge at all. 

Harry was quiet now. Louis wasn’t sure where else to go. Wasn’t sure what angle to hit from, but he knew that there had to be more underneath the calculated boy sat in front of him. 

“Who’s Olivia?” he blurted, and well, it was a fair question. It was the song that had started all of this. It was the song that made Louis believe there was something more than what Harry was showing to the world. 

Harry’s lips twitched and for the briefest moment, Louis saw the dimple again. He tried not to think about the feeling that sank into his chest. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

The words were playful…cheeky. Louis could handle that. Cheeky was his middle name, after all. 

“I would,” he admitted, “bet there’s a load of girls out there who wish they were Olivia.”

This time Harry’s lips parted and a smooth smile appeared on his face. It suited him. There was something more real about it. Something less put on and Louis was beginning to think that maybe he’d actually hit upon a real piece of Harry Styles. 

And that piece looked mighty appealing and life just wasn’t fair was it? Fucking colleagues was just bad juju. He couldn’t _do_ that, could he? 

No.

_No, no, no, Tommo._

“Olivia is my sister’s cat,” there was a playfulness in his eyes. Louis was addicted. 

“That’s bloody it, I’m taking his news to _The Sun_. People around the world will be floored. Harry Styles writes a better love song about a fucking cat than people write about their wives.”

“I told you that in confidentiality,” his voice was slow, but the more Louis talked to him the more he started to realize that maybe that was just how he was. Maybe he just slowly calculated every word before he put them out into the world, which was a nice change from Louis approach to speaking (which was to vomit every thought or feeling without a fraction of a second’s hesitation). The more he started after Harry’s words the more he became aware of the colour that was painting Harry’s cheeks. 

Was he…?

_Was Harry Styles blushing while Louis took the piss?_

Fucking Christ there was no God because if there was he might have taken some sort of pity on Louis because this was exactly the kind of thing he _lived_ for. 

Harry was definitely blushing and that was okay. Louis could use about a 5 second break where he had the bloody upper hand. Harry was gripping an old leather journal in his hands. He had nice hands, too, long, soft looking fingers that were covered in tiny tattoos and more rings than strictly necessary. Louis stamped down the part of his imagination that wanted to run wild with thoughts of just how _far_ Harry’s long slender fingers could reach. 

Because fuck, no, Louis was not going there. No with someone he was working with. It was a personal rule. There were plenty of available men in the Las Vegas area and he certainly didn’t need to look so close to work. He couldn’t do anything that might put his career at risk. That was all he had after all. 

“Have you been working on lyrics?” Louis asked, pointing to the journal in Harry’s hands. 

Harry pressed his lips together and nodded, “a bit. Nothing really. I’m not quite sure where to start.”

Louis nodded, “why don’t we just start somewhere simple?” He got up from the couch and sat down behind his computer, “why don’t I show you something my mate and I were working on last night so you can kind of get a feel for what I’m bringing into this.”

“Great,” Harry smiled and followed him over to the computer. He pulled up his own chair and sat a bit too close to Louis to be strictly professional, but then again, Harry was probably completely oblivious to what kind of sex god he was, anyway. He probably had no idea what the feeling of his breath on Louis’ arm was doing to Louis’ psyche. 

 

…

 

It had been only a couple of hours since Harry had landed in Las Vegas, and he was only one hour into his three weeks with Louis, but things were starting to feel okay. Maybe it was all just an illusion, but Harry was feeling more like himself than he had in a long time. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that he had walked into Louis Tomlinson’s studio only to be rendered completely speechless with the fact that Louis was abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous. How he wasn’t spread across magazines and worshiped on a regular basis was completely beyond Harry. Louis’ good looks might very well have been the best kept secret in the music industry. 

But here he was, sitting in Louis’ studio, staring at his computer while he played him sample clips of things he’d been working on and songs that were unfinished. It was endless. Louis’ brain was a bottomless pit of melodies and lyrics and rhythms and a really Harry was caught a bit off guard. He’d known that Louis had to have been impossibly talented to have achieved everything he had in such a short amount of time. There was no way the man sitting beside him was any more than thirty and Harry kind of felt like he paled in comparison. 

The other thing that was incredibly frustrating and unfair about this whole thing was that Louis was drop dead fucking gorgeous. It had been a long time since Harry had allowed himself to think those things, but it was kind of impossible to ignore with Louis. His eyes were crystal blue and his perfect cheekbones peeked out just over the stubble that lived all across his cheeks. His hair was messy on top of his head, but it kind of only added to the appeal in a way. Louis was rough around the edges, had a mouth like spit-fire (which Harry had learned when he offered to make them tea and had the audacity to add the water before the tea bag and received a lecture about how even after a decade in America he was still British enough to know how to make a proper cup of tea ‘for fuck sake’) but somehow balanced that with his easy jokes and compliments that fell from his lips like _he_ was the one who was in awe of _Harry._ That didn’t make sense though. Louis didn’t make sense. 

Which was maybe one of the reasons that Harry felt prickles across his skin every time he said something that made Louis smile. The best part though? The best part was when Louis laughed. Harry had done it a few times now, and the reaction was so genuine that it had caused a storm inside of his chest. Louis’ laughter came hard and aggressively and his eyes had crinkled up and Harry couldn’t hold back the chuckles that fell from his own mouth. It was infectious. Louis was infectious and it had only been a few hours but Harry had a hopelessly sick obsession with the idea of making him laugh again and again.

See, the thing was, even though he had married a woman, it wasn’t just that simple. It wasn’t just straight forward to Harry—no pun intended. Before Caitlin, there had been a few other girls, a handful of guys. Nothing had ever really been serious because Harry had been young. He had been testing the waters and he found that he didn’t really have a ‘preference’ so to speak. He was attracted to women, obviously. He hadn’t faked the whole thing for the sake of his record deal—he wasn’t that shady. But guys…that was definitely a thing, too. Through most of his teenaged years he’d experimented with guys and girls alike. He found there wasn’t much of a difference. They both got him off and that was the main goal, wasn’t it? He was attracted quite easily to both genders and while it had been straight forward and easy for him to understand, the people around him didn’t get it. He could remember being sixteen and sitting on the foot of his sister, Gemma’s bed, trying to explain it to her but she’d always just assumed he was trying to tell her that he was gay without really telling her he was gay. It was frustrating, even more-so when he’d told her he and Caitlin were getting married. ‘So you’re not gay?’ she’d asked, despite the fact that he’d explained it to her a million times before. 

And so, sitting in Louis’ flat across from him, trying to make him laugh again so that he could see the way the chuckles seemed to take over his entire body and the way he seemed to lose control of himself for that fleeting moment? Well it wasn’t bloody surprising why that was Harry’s main goal. He was attracted to him—and how couldn’t he be? Sharp features mixed with soft curves and blue eyes that seemed iridescent? Louis was a fucking vision.

And Harry was fucked, fucked, fucked six ways from Sunday.

Louis clicked out of the program unexpectedly and trained his gaze on Harry. He tapped the cover of Harry’s leather journal, “lets have it then,” he said, voice soft, “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

A chill ran down Harry’s spine at the words. It felt like flirting, but it couldn’t possibly be because Louis was a professional and harry was just the directionless artist that Louis was in charge of for the next three weeks. It wasn’t more than that. Louis had been asked to draw out some new songs from Harry, it would be stupid of Harry to read any more into it than he already had. 

I would be even stupider for him to flirt back, so naturally that’s exactly what he tried to do. 

“I’m not exactly sure that all of this,” he gestured to himself and the journal, “is particularly comparable.”

And he did it. He unleashed another genuine laugh from Louis who threw back his head, exposing the column of his throat and desire within Harry to sink his teeth gently into every centimetre if the newly exposed skin. 

“Professionally speaking,” Louis began, “I find comparisons cheap. It’s all in how you use what you’ve got, how you carry yourself. Confidence is key, young Harold. Hold your head high. Show me your lyrics.” 

Louis held out his hand expectantly, gesturing for Harry to hand him the journal. 

Harry bit down on his lip, slowly handing the book over to Louis. There was something unnerving about letting him peer into his thoughts. Louis wrote a lot of songs with a lot of people. He probably had the sense enough to sort through the things that were real and the things that were utter bullshit. Unfortunately for Harry, every word in his journal held weight to it. He was going through a lot of things and they were all laid out in the pages of the old leather book. His panic, the feeling of being trapped in a life he’d asked for out of naivety... it was all there. And Louis would see it. 

Quickly Louis eyes flicked through page after page and Harry just watched in quiet horror. His cheeks were flushed as he imagined what part Louis was at. It was all so telling. It was all so him. Of course, maybe that was a good thing. If Louis was going to help him write an album he was actually proud of, it would have to be real, wouldn’t it? 

“Tongue tied like we’ve never known. Telling those stories we already told, ‘cause we don’t say what we really mean.”

Louis' voice cut through the silence and it sounded... different. It sounded full of something that Harry couldn’t possibly recognize given that he’d only known Louis a few hours...

But there was definitely something there. 

Louis closed the book slowly, meeting Harry’s eyes. It was frightening how Louis had gone from quiet simple jokes to such seriousness. 

“I must admit,” he started, “that when I first listened to your album, until I got to Olivia, I honestly thought you were here because you needed me. You needed someone to write you a song and tack your name on it for good measure, but then I heard that song, and read all this and...” Louis shrugged easily, Harry envied his confidence, “now I think you don’t really need me at all.”

Harry didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that. He just kept his lip between his teeth, staring back at Louis, who chose to crack the most dazzling smile. 

“That said, it just makes it more fun, yeah? Now you don’t need me, which means we can get passed all that bullshit and just write some really good shit without the need for power trips.”

Harry nodded once, still feeling strangely exposed. Louis leaned back in his chair, opening the book again and flipping through a few pages. 

“Who’s the second ghost?” He asked void of all pretence. 

“Pardon?” 

“In your lyrics. There’s two ghosts. Obviously you’re one—who’s the second? Is it your sister’s cat again? Did you fall out of touch during your rigorous tour schedule?”

Harry laughed brightly at that. Louis was funny and playful and Harry didn’t mind. He got some kind of kick out of being teased. It was a thing he’d always enjoyed. 

Although, the question, as much of a joke as Louis made it into was pretty simple. Caitlin was the second ghost. She had been for a long time. Harry couldn’t remember a time when it actually felt like he knew her, but could he say that to Louis? He’d be stamping down every bit of flirtation that had been happening and he had no right to feel disappointment at that prospect. It was the right thing to do. He couldn’t just keep flirting with attractive songwriters whenever the whim hit him. It wasn’t right. 

Harry cleared his throat, “it’s about my wife.”

 

...

 

You would think, like really fucking think that hearing Harry say the word ‘wife’ might stamp out whatever kind of hopeful obsession that was swirling inside of Louis. But apparently Louis wasn’t that smart, because once the awkward silence after the word ‘wife’ had been dropped into the room like some kind of grenade had passed, Louis handed the journal back to Harry and cracked his knuckles and smiled. 

“I have a plan,” he announced. 

Harry returned the smile without a bit of hesitation, “what’s that?”

“Well it sounds to me like you need a drink,” Louis started and he was probably imagining the way that Harry’s eyes shimmered brighter at his words, “and I for one am not the sort of man who can deny something so vital.”

“Is that so?” was all that Harry said, but his smile told Louis that he was on the right path. 

“Besides,” reasoned Louis, “if we’re meant to write this album together, we might as well break the ice so to speak. You might as well get to know me, because something tells me that I’m going to be seeing a lot more of you.” 

Louis pointed to the journal that was still firmly clasped between Harry’s slender fingers. He really hoped that Harry believed that he was talking about the journal—not about the fiery desire that was brewing in the pit on his stomach. 

And well, it was at least half the truth. If they were going to write together, he was going to be seeing a lot more of what was inside of Harry and that was something that he really shouldn’t have been so excited about. The other half…well it was just a shot in the dark. Harry had a wife. a _Wife._ Which meant a whole lot more than adultery being at play here. Harry was straight and Louis’ hopeless flirting tactics were just that— _hopeless._ There was no way that things could go the way that he was aching for. It wasn’t a possibility and he’d just have to keep reminding himself of that and hope that his shameless flirting reflected on him as endearing and not creepy. 

“Yeah, um, okay,” Harry’s voice broke through the strange spiral that Louis’ thoughts had somehow gotten entrapped in, “what did you have in mind?”

“Cheap beer in a dive bar.”

Harry chuckled lightly and it was a truly lovely sound and Louis really wished he thought something less of it. He wished that it didn’t make his insides twitch in strictly not so professional way. Louis wanted, wanted, _wanted_ and it really didn’t matter to the primal parts of him that that want was very wrong. He should know better for about a million different reasons. He should also know better than to throw alcohol into the mix because it would probably result in him thoroughly embarrassing himself.

But, as he watched Harry’s smile light up the room, he didn’t really care. Fuck his dignity, he just wanted to sit in a dirty old booth in the back of a bar and make Harry laugh over a couple of _innocent_ pints. Seriously. It would all be innocent because Harry would steer them back. He would keep Louis from crossing the line. _He had a wife._ That meant that the flirting was very one sided, and to be fair, that was fine. Louis could flirt with anything—inanimate objects included. It was his natural state of being. He flirted, he teased and he flirted some more. Harmless. It was all harmless because Louis couldn’t really follow through with it—even if the situation was far brighter than this one—because he wasn’t available. Not really—not like guys wanted him to be.  So. Harmless. Louis would flirt, flirt, flirt and watch as the blush coloured Harry’s cheeks and pretend that it was something he got to have for real. 

But it wasn’t because Harry was an artist and Louis was a professional and _Harry was married._

“Umm,” Harry’s voice cut through the tension in the air, “cool.”

He sounded unsure. Did Harry see through him? Did he know that Louis’ intentions were less than savoury and that he was dangerously close to dropping to his knees in front of him and asking him if he could please, _please_ suck his cock. 

“It’ll be fun, I swear,” Louis filled the silence with more words for whatever reason (probably because he couldn’t control himself on a good day), “and I won’t bite, I swear.”

Harry’s cheeks blazed then and that wasn’t helpful at all. All it did was serve to make Louis even more insane and now he had to deal with the urge inside of him that told him to reach out and pinch Harry’s cheek right where that gorgeous dimple was making its appearance again. 

Yeah, drinks were a bad idea. Louis was already on the fast track to embarrassing himself. Why did it feel like Harry didn’t mind? Was he actually loosing his marbles entirely? Did Louis really not know how to gauge a situation, or was Harry just making him go completely mad?

 

…

 

Louis had had way too much to drink. _Way_ too much. He’d realized that about three beers ago, but there was no way to turn back the clock. He’d done it and now he was trying to keep his head above water and trying not to say something stupid to Harry (who’s cheeks were the loveliest shade of pink as he sipped his 6th martini). They were sitting in the back of a bar that almost no one had heard of (which was one of the reasons Louis frequented it) and Harry seemed content. More content than he had when he’d first walked through Louis’ front door and that seemed like a feat in and of itself. He didn’t like the tension that seemed permanent in Harry’s posture. Harry was to…put together—or maybe he was just _put on._ Louis wasn’t really sure, but the more he poked and prodded, the more receptive Harry was to his questions and the more that Louis felt like he was seeing actual glimpses of the person behind his fame. 

Still, though, even as he forbade himself to go near it, Louis was obsessing over one subject. _Wife, wife, wife_ was a chant that just kept going on and on in his head. It was making him crazy and he’d tried about 50 different subjects in the span of the last 3 hours and he’s exhausted everything he could think of and now his mind just kept on wandering back to that place. He was a masochtist or something—that _had_ to be it. Louis wanted to hurt and he was now actively searching out subjects that would crush him completely and maybe he needed to stop drinking. But before he could have the good sense to pull it together and back the fuck away from the grenade that Harry had dropped back at his flat, he went there. 

“How long have you been married?”

Harry was just sucking the olive off of his tooth pick when his eyes shot up to Louis’. He looked almost as shocked at the words as Louis did, regardless of the fact that he’d said them (which was something that happened with Louis a lot given that his brain to mouth filter had given up around age four). 

“Er,” Harry said as he chewed the olive slowly, not breaking eye contact with Louis. 

The response said enough. It was kind of a red flag. Harry obviously wasn’t comfortable with the question and Louis should probably back away, but there was too much beer swirling around in his bloodstream for him to really make much of an informed, adult decision. 

So, instead of back peddling or changing the subject like Harry’s eyes pleaded with him to, he stared at Harry and waited for his response. 

Harry swallowed and then he spoke, “its been, uh, almost two years.”

He didn’t want Louis to ask anything else. He probably wanted Louis to veer the conversation elsewhere and Louis should have wanted that, too, but his big mouth betrayed him. 

“But you’re just a wee pup,” he said, playful smile set in place, “that’s a long time to be married considering how young you must be.”

And yeah! Yeah! _Young._ Harry was young! Probably too young for Louis and young and married were two things that should definitely make Louis want to back off. 

But, instead he tracked the movement of Harry’s tongue as it darted out to moisten his bottom lip. It looked like a good tongue. 

_It looked like a good tongue?_

Come off it, Tommo. 

There was actually no good excuse out there in the world that could explain exactly why Louis was acting how he was acting. It was atrocious and even though he was drunk, he was embarrassed for himself. He still had to face this kid for the next 20 days. He really wanted to keep his dignity in tact. 

“Yeah,” everything about Harry’s body language and the way he hesitated on the words screamed that this wasn’t a subject that he was interested in lingering on. 

“How old are you?” Louis blurted. 

Harry’s cheeks seemed to be flushing a deeper shade of pink now. “21.”

Louis inhaled deeply through his nose and took a long pull of his beer, “so you got married when you were 19.” He didn’t pose it as a question. Harry started to nod and then he puked out more stupid words, “why?”

“Uh,” the tone of Harry’s voice definitely said that he wanted the conversation over. Louis tried (he really did) to give him a way out of it. 

“I mean, obviously you don’t have to answer that,” he sighed, “it’s just…you wrote those words—like about being ghosts and all and I’m just wondering what made you decide on forever when you were barely even an adult.”

There was a struggle in Harry’s features. Louis wondered what it was based in, but he also knew he’d probably asked too much already, so he waited. He waited for Harry to either blow off the question or to answer it. He wasn’t really sure what his preference was because he had a lot of feelings about this subject, okay? He wasn’t really sure why, but the idea of Harry being married to someone that he felt like he didn’t know? It hurt. It hurt in some kind of way deep inside of Louis and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the idea that someone as lovely as Harry was unhappy in any way was just kind of unsettling? 

Whatever. It didn’t have to make sense. Louis was drunk. 

“I guess I didn’t really decide on forever. It kind of decided on me.”

Ooooo…kay? What did that _mean?_ Obviously Harry was unhappy— _obviously._ But, like, was he expressing that to Louis now? Was Louis meant to be giving advice or just listening? Did Harry want his pity, his input, his dick?

No, _Louis._

“You’re not happy.”

Louis dropped the statement into the middle of their conversation and, really, he didn’t have any right to. It wasn’t his place to make any assessment about Harry’s life. Harry was probably more than done with his bullshit and honestly, Louis was bordering on being done, too. This whole idea was awful. He never should have suggested that they go out drinking. Sure, in most cases a drunken night together broke the ice and made people closer than before—but in this case it was very wrong. Now everything Louis was saying felt too heavy for the room and everything Harry was saying was settling inside of him in a weird way. 

Oh, and there was the huge fucking problem of sexual attraction being a thing that Louis couldn’t take his mind off of. Especially when Harry wrapped his humongous hands around the tiny stem of his martini glass. Or when he threw his head back and laughed at Louis’ bad jokes. Or when he licked his lips. Or when his dimple appeared. Or when he spoke in that slow and calculated way, sending shivers down Louis’ spine. Alcohol had kind of just made things worse. 

“I’m not happy,” Harry confirmed, now staring into the empty glass in front of him. 

Louis had hit upon something and he was no fool. He could see that. He needed a second to clear his thoughts. He was aching for a breather. He needed a cigarette or clear his mind and maybe give him a different kind of head rush than the one that Harry was providing. 

“I’m going to step outside for a minute and have meself a cancer stick. Why don’t you get us a refill and we can talk shop some more.”

Talk Shop. Yeah, okay, because _that’s_ what they’d been doing this whole time. 

Harry nodded and smiled in a way that didn’t touch his eyes. He looked…thoughtful. Like there was a kind of debate going on his head as he nodded obediently. Harry was a good listener and Louis really shouldn’t have been marking that information down. He should not have been thinking about how good Harry might be at obeying his requests in more… _private_ settings. 

 

…

 

“A cancer stick” had somehow turned into two and a half as Louis leaned against the patio wall and stared out across the strip. Thankfully he was feeling a little less drunk now and was able to form some coherent thoughts. Unfortunately those thoughts weren’t much different than the one’s he’d been thinking about five minutes before…but you win some, you lose some. 

Harry had admitted to him that he wasn’t happy. That seemed kind of pivotal. It didn’t feel like information that he would hand out to just anyone and Louis wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to feel about that. It felt heavy inside of him. He couldn’t stop obsessing over it and wondering how many other people knew of Harry’s unhappiness. Did his wife know? Or did he just hold it together in that strangely professional manner he had for the first few hours Louis had known him? How many people were gifted the chance to see the real parts of Harry that Louis had managed to coax out?

Selfishly he hoped he was the only one. 

He wasn’t really sure why this whole thing was even unfolding the way it was. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t seem to quell his attraction to Harry. He wasn’t 14. He’d been around many attractive men and managed to hold himself together. Why was Harry any different? Why did Harry make him _feel_ different? None of it made any sense and he really wanted to be bigger than all of it. He wanted to be able to step back and assess it without bias and sexual desire standing in the way. He wanted to be able to make the informed, adult decision to let it go. He needed to, really. 

But then, just like he had been since the minute he’d walked through Louis’ door, Harry threw yet another mixed signal his way. He appeared in the doorway, the light from the bar reflecting around him and blurring most of his features. Even as a silhouette, Harry was the stuff of dreams. He only hesitated a moment before making his way over to where Louis was standing. 

Louis didn’t know what to say now that Harry was standing in such close proximity. It was making his skin buzz in an entirely addictive way that he really needed to stop thinking about if he was ever going to regain his professionalism. He stuffed the cigarette he was holding back into his mouth to prevent him from saying something else stupid. He was drunk. Harry was drunk. It was basically a flawless recipe for disaster. He needed to back the fuck up before he destroyed whatever inkling of respect that Harry might still hold for him. So he held the smoke in his lungs and waited for Harry to speak first. 

“I think…” Harry’s voice was perpetually slow and Louis wished for about a million different reasons that he didn’t find it the actual sexiest thing in the world, “that maybe I gave you the wrong impression about myself.”

Louis exhaled the smoke over his shoulder, “is that so?”

Louis felt Harry’s fingers on the inside of his wrist and he wasn’t fucking crazy, okay? There was no way, _no way_ , he was possibly sexually deprived enough to imagine this kind of tension. Harry was sending him signals, wasn’t he? Wasn’t what all of this was? He could feel goosebumps across his body and he was just a normal average man and he wasn’t above falling for this kind of thing. He couldn’t just _not_ want to snog the fuck out of Harry. He was just a normal person, okay?

Harry’s fingers slid across Louis’ wrist and he was just kind of frozen in place, too afraid of what it might mean for the weeks to come if he were to just jump on board and go for the gold. It had to be Harry. He had to wait it out and let Harry come to him (even though he was very fucking aware that _married_ should mean something and that he shouldn’t want Harry to come to him). He watched Harry’s hands because there was something too real and too unnerving happening in his eyes. He watched as the slender fingers trailed across his wrist until they reached the cigarette between his fingers. Harry took hold of it then and Louis was forced to watch as he brought the cigarette to his mouth. 

“Yeah,” he breathed and Louis was pretty sure he didn’t have the spins because of the beer. He was pretty convinced that it was all because of Harry. His words were vague, because what impression did he think he’d given Louis and what impression did he wish he _had?_ Harry brought the cigarette to his lips and took a quick puff before he spoke again, “Caitlin hates when I smoke,” he paused, meeting Louis’ eyes, “that’s her name—Caitlin. She’s a really lovely person, you know? I just don’t know if she’s _my_ lovely person.”

There was a storm of conflict in Harry’s features and Louis didn’t like it, so he tried to speak. 

“You’re young.”

What bearing that had on anything, he wasn’t really sure, but he also didn’t want to meet Harry’s confession with complete and idiotic silence. Harry took another drag from the cigarette as he stared out at the strip. Louis wanted to be able to look away, or take a step back but he was transfixed on whatever it was that was happening with Harry. He needed to know more—to know all of it. He didn’t know how he’d ever be able to want anything less. He felt Harry’s hands at his wrist again and that couldn’t possibly mean something else than it felt like it meant. There were certain social cues and Louis was pretty well versed in them and Harry was flirting—or wanting to flirt or something and Louis didn’t think he could possibly be misunderstanding that. He felt Harry’s fingers ghost across his wrist until he exhaled a harsh breath that kind of sounded like he was relenting against something, and he grabbed Louis’ wrist harder than Louis might have expected from someone like Harry. That of course just sent pin-pricks of desire directly to his now interested cock. 

“I want,” Harry said as he slowly pressed Louis’ back against the patio wall, not dropping his wrist. Harry’s pupils were blown and his pink lips looked more plush than Louis remembered, but also maybe he was just too attracted to turn down the level of cliches that were running through his mind. He let himself be pushed harder into the wall as he watched Harry bring the cigarette to his lips again. His gaze didn’t leave Louis’ and Louis could think of about a million different things that he’d rather be watching Harry’s mouth do than sucking on a cigarette, but, well, he’d take whatever innuendo he could at this point. 

“You want,” he parroted Harry’s words, looking for something more. Something more solid and firm than Harry had been giving him since they’d met. He wanted to know more about the real desires that burned inside of him, about what kind of things he could do to fan the flames of those desires. Basically he just wanted to know Harry because he was beautiful and fascinating and Louis might very well be obsessed. 

Harry exhaled then, the smoke blurring Louis’ vision. For a split second he couldn’t see Harry, but he could feel him as he pressed the word against Louis’ lips. 

“You.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts, suggestions and emotional outbursts are always appreciated. So leave a comment, hit me up on instagram @feels.like.home01 or Tumblr: make-thisfeellikehome
> 
> Also, if anyone actually cares about song inspiration and whatnot, during this chapter I was listening to a lot of Steve Vai. More specifically one of my favourite Vai songs called Tender Surrender. Its fucking beautiful and romantic and everyone should listen to it and then report back about how it changed your life.
> 
> Next:  
> I must admit I thought I'd like to make you mine  
> As I went about my business through the warning signs


	2. Only Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried really hard to write some half decent sex here, but everyone has a weakness and smut is mine. 
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoy!

_I must admit I thought I'd like to make you mine_

_As I went about my business through the warning signs_

_End up meeting in the hallway every single time_

_And there's nothing we can do about it_

 

Harry woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. It was the ringtone for a number that was saved in his phone, so he ignored the way his head was throbbing and reached for it. It was probably either Caitlin or Rick and while he didn’t particularly want to talk to either of them, he should probably answer the call. It would look bad otherwise. 

Shit. Did Harry have to think about that now? About how things looked? Because now he had something to hide…oh god. What a mess. What had he been thinking? He’d just been so wrapped up in that current of electricity that seemed to strike him the moment he’d seen Louis. He hadn’t really thought about what it would _mean_. He’d had too much to drink and his inhibitions had been dangerously low and Louis just kept making him laugh. Like, really laugh and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. He’d been so unhappy for so long and life just kept pulling him in a million directions that he’d never consented to…but Louis had kind of made time stop? He’d been so kind and so funny and so fucking gorgeous and he’d been flirting. Harry had been pretty certain of that and while he knew it was wrong, that the very concept of having him was so fucking wrong, he hadn’t been able to stop himself. Louis had walked out of the bar and he’d sat there in that booth staring after him and the world had rushed right back in. The silence of the moment had evaporated and Harry wasn’t able to stand it. He wasn’t able to accept that everything without Louis was just normal and like it had always been. He wanted the quiet, the world that seemed to exist when Louis had been sitting across the table with him teasing and delving strangely deep into Harry’s personal life without offending him at all. So he’d followed him outside. It was just what made sense at the time. 

Now, though, it was the next morning and Harry had a headache and he was still reeling from the things that had unfolded after he’d finally bit the bullet and kissed Louis. Obviously it hadn’t ended just like that—it couldn’t. Harry wanted too much more and apparently it hadn’t mattered in that moment that he shouldn’t have. Apparently the only thing that had mattered was the shocked gasp that Louis had let out as Harry tightened his grip on his wrist and pressed him harder against the wall. There hadn’t been a hesitation though, even though Louis clearly hadn’t been expecting Harry to kiss him he’d responded pretty quickly—and _that?_ That response? That had been fucking magical—life changing. Harry had nearly exploded in on himself as he felt Louis’ teeth on his lips, his tongue against his. Harry wasn’t really sure how long it went on for, but when Louis finally pulled back they were both panting and Harry was hard and he was pretty sure he could feel Louis’ hard cock pressed against his thigh—but he was also pretty lost in the crystal blue eyes that he was staring into. They hadn’t spoken for the brief moment, they’d just kind of stared at each other and Harry knew it. He was done for. This whole thing was going to be so much _more._ It had to be because there was no way that he could ever settle for desperate kisses on an abandoned patio. That would never be enough. 

And that was wrong. 

That knowledge must have weighed on Louis, too, because when Harry’s lips had found their way to the soft skin at Louis’ neck and he’d dragged his nose across the stubble on Louis’ cheeks so he could lean in and whisper into his ear that Louis should take him home, Louis had pushed back. He’d met Harry’s eyes and said ‘this isn’t a conversation we should be having while you’re drunk’. 

Harry supposed that made perfect sense. It wasn’t like Louis had rejected him…it had felt like exactly the opposite in some strange way. It hadn’t just been about the desperate need to fuck. There had been something more burning behind the kiss and the fact that Louis cared enough to mention that they probably shouldn’t take things farther because they were drunk? That meant something more, didn’t it? 

Harry groaned as he reached under his pillow to find his phone. He didn’t want to deal with life right now. He didn’t want to deal with the fact that he’d done something wrong and now he had to face it. He had to lie to Caitlin—or tell her the truth? But no, that wasn’t really an option. He couldn’t just tell her the truth because it hadn’t really been much. It was just a kiss. 

Just a kiss that had made Harry feel a lot of things that he hadn’t felt in a long time…

But it was just a kiss. 

Harry finally grabbed a hold of his phone and looked down at the screen to see a contact that he couldn’t quite remember being there before the previous night. 

_Louis._

The name flashed across the screen. There was something intimate about it. Maybe that wasn’t the right word…but when Harry had landed in Las Vegas yesterday it hadn’t just been ‘Louis’—it had been Louis Tomlinson. He’d been large and intimidating and talented and way above anything that Harry thought of himself…but now? Now he was looking down at his phone where Louis must have saved his number the night before…and it was just Louis. 

A sort of calm passed through Harry had he scrambled to pressed the ‘accept’ button. He pressed the phone to his ear. 

“Louis?” he said, his voice rough from his hangover and internal crisis. 

“Harry,” Louis’ voice sounded bright and open and _together_ and Harry wished he could be any of those things. 

“Good Morning,” were all the words that Harry managed. 

Louis’ small laugh trickled down the line and settled into Harry’s spine, leaving a tingling sensation down to his toes. How could Louis do that with nothing more than a small laugh?

“Listen,” Louis paused and Harry panicked. He was going to tell Harry that he’d crossed a line that Louis wasn’t comfortable with. Maybe he was going to bail on the next three weeks and tell Harry that he was acting unprofessionally and that he was uncomfortable with the whole mess. “about last night,” and fuck, fuck, fuck, here it was. Louis wasn’t just keen to ignore the whole thing and move on with the songwriting sessions…he wanted to acknowledge it and that was something that Harry rarely did. He didn’t acknowledge issues, he’d learned long ago that things tended to be easier that way, “I just think that maybe given the situation there’s a course of action we’re supposed to take here.”

“Um,” Harry wasn’t good with words like this, not like Louis was. 

“I think that what we’re supposed to do is chalk the whole thing up to too many martinis and consider all the ice broken and just write some bloody fantastic songs together. We shouldn’t let what happened get in the way, right? I mean we’re adults. We can still be professional.”

Harry wanted to disagree. He really did. He might very well have been an adult but he didn’t honestly think he could chalk the whole thing up to alcohol. He’d been unhappy a long time and nothing had ever made him act on it. It wasn’t like he typically ran around making moves on attractive songwriters. He’d never done something so wrong before. He’d never thought about cheating on Caitlin because he didn’t want to hurt her. He cared about her in his own way and while that might not ever be _enough_ it had still always been enough to keep his head on straight. 

He’d never even considered cheating on Caitlin and that had to mean something. He wasn’t a bad person, not really. It was just…Louis. He’d been nothing that Harry had expected and it was making him lose his mind in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 

“Look,” Louis was speaking again, “you should come over. I’ve been up all morning thinking and I think I’ve got a melody for the ghosts and I think we might be onto something. We should at the very least finish what we started, you know?”

“We should,” Harry wasn’t sure if he was agreeing to finish the song or if he was hoping that Louis was referencing the previous night, but he didn’t care. He was agreeing because there was one thing that he was certain of, and that was that he _had_ to see Louis again. 

 

…

 

Louis wasn’t quite sure why his palms were tingling as he waited for a knock on his door. He had no real reason to harbour any sort of expectation about what was to come. He didn’t get to do that. He’d helped Harry do something that was incredibly wrong. Harry was _married_ and that should have meant something to Louis. He should have had the strength to tear his hand away from Harry’s. He shouldn’t have let Harry kiss him and he most certainly should not have kissed him back until he was ready to explode in his pants at just the whisper of Harry’s cock rubbing against his hips. He should have known better for about a million reasons, but here he was, waiting for Harry to knock on his door and hoping that he was going to have the strength to stay away. He needed to for his career, for his sanity, for his fucking janky moral compass. There were a million reasons why he should have been thinking of literally anything other than the press of Harry’s lips against his. He should be better…

But he really fucking wasn’t and Harry was knocking on the door now and he was going to have to answer it and _behave_ himself. Why did that seem like the most impossible part of all? How had things ended up here? How had he let things get like this? When had he given himself permission to be a less than a decent human being? 

He sucked in a deep breath because _he_ was the adult here. He was the one who should be making better decisions and if Harry needed guidance about how to be a good person, well fucking A1 because Louis was the best at that. He was the best at being a good person. He always said ‘no’ to cocaine at industry parties, he _always_ brushed his teeth before bed and he always called the next day after sex. He was a good person, okay? This wasn’t the normal kind of thing that he got into and he could steer them both right back onto the right path. He could do that because he was the adult. 

As he made his way toward the front door he could almost feel his resolve crumbling, because he really fucking wanted Harry, okay? It had been a long time since he’d wanted _anybody_ longer than a couple of hours and life just wasn’t fair. He wasn’t ready to have to deal with something like this. He wanted to have the things he wanted and wasn’t that fucking normal? Wasn’t it normal to want someone that so obviously wanted you?

He pulled open the door, a speech on his tongue about how he was going to steer them back on track and about how last night hadn’t changed anything. He’d gotten drunk and snogged plenty of people over the years and had been able to keep his composure. Why should Harry be any different? 

And then he opened the door and met Harry’s soft green eyes. He looked different today. He was dressed in black jeans and a thin white t-shirt that left very few of his tattoos up to Louis’ imagination. The neck of his shirt was scooped and Louis could see so many places that he wanted to explore with his teeth—and places that he _had_ explored with his tongue and life wasn’t fucking fair okay? Because Harry was standing there looking like a vision of everything that Louis wanted and it was irrational of him to be thinking a constant stream of ‘ _mineminemine_ ’ because Harry _wasn’t_ his. He very much wasn’t and there was nothing in the world that Louis could do to change that because he was _married_ for fuck sake. When did Louis become such a trash human? When did he give himself permission to chase after a life that would only ever end in him being a dirty little secret that Harry had to carry around every single day? He was more than that. He deserved more than that. 

He knew that even as he looked up at Harry who’s hair was tousled and his expression so fucking certain? Harry looked so certain about something and that wasn’t fair either! Louis wasn’t certain about anything other than what his dick was thinking and he’d learned as a teenager that that was no way to ever make a decision. He needed to step the fuck back. 

“Louis’,” but there was Harry’s voice, raspy and tired and he sounded fucking wrecked and all Louis wanted in the entire world was to take him apart piece by piece and show him what it would _really_ feel like to be wrecked by Louis Tomlinson. His mouth was watering as he took in the way that Harry was looking at him. 

Without permission, Harry took a step closer to Louis until their toes were touching and Louis could feel the heat rolling off of Harry’s body. 

“I’m not drunk,” said Harry, his gaze heavy as he scanned Louis’ body, “and I still want you.”

And well, Harry wasn’t supposed to say that. He wasn’t supposed to say something that would confuse Louis even more. He didn’t have a clue how to step back from words like that. 

“Harry,” he breathed the word slowly, not even sure he’d spoken aloud at all. 

“Please,” and the rasp behind the word was enough to crack whatever sort of fictional resolve that Louis had convinced himself he had. Harry was right there and he wanted Louis. What was Louis even supposed to do with that?

Before he even thought about giving himself permission, he felt his hand betraying him. His hand had somehow found its way to Harry’s face and Harry had closed his eyes to lean into it and it felt like a lot more than Louis had expected it to. That didn’t make sense though because the whole thing was fucking doomed. That was the reality they were facing. 

“We probably shouldn’t,” Louis had found his voice. Praise god. It seemed like he was finally making a solid choice with his words too. He was a bit proud of himself. 

“Right,” said Harry, placing his hand on the small of Louis’ back despite his words. He pressed them closer together and Louis body was disobeying his mouth again as he moved closer, feeling his chest flush against Harry’s.

“I don’t mean ‘probably’” he started as he felt Harry’s lips ghosting across his jaw and sending a chill through his body, “we shouldn’t. We really shouldn’t.”

Somehow, though, despite his words he found that his fingers were curling into the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry probably should have said something. Louis probably should have told him that he needed to say something—but instead he gave in to the feel of Harry’s lips as they brushed across his jawline. 

And that was it. Fuck everything because Louis only had so much resistance in him. He guided Harry’s lips to his and it only took one flick of Harry’s tongue against his bottom lip for him to know exactly how this morning had to end. 

“Bed,” he demanded and Harry’s nails dig into his back at the word. 

This wasn’t just some kind of fleeting attraction. Louis recognized that now and there was no way he could stop himself from giving into it. There was only one option. Harry. He needed to feel Harry’s lips everywhere. He needed to know how Harry tasted, how he tilted his head when his orgasm was close. He needed to see how he clenched his abs as he came from Louis hands, Louis’ mouth—Louis inside of him. He needed to know how Harry’s kiss tasted in the morning with Louis still on his tongue. These were not things that were optional. 

Luckily for Louis it was an easy sell. Harry pushed him backwards, lips still moving roughly against him. Louis managed to fumble behind him and close the door. Then suddenly, it was just them. They were doing this. They hadn’t even finished a song yet, but somehow this felt more important. The rest would come. Somehow they’d re-find their equilibrium and they’d succeed with everything else, too. They had to. There wasn't another option.

Louis couldn't think about that now, though, not with the way that Harry was kissing him. His hands were fumbling with the hem of Louis’ jumper, trying to wrestle it over his head without separating their lips. There was no hesitation even though the rational parts of Louis knew that there would be plenty of questions when this was all said and done. That didn’t matter though because Harry had pulled back and was biting his bottom lip while palming himself through his jeans and staring at Louis. 

Okay, Louis had been with plenty of guys in plenty of ways but what was currently happening in his chest? That had never happened before. No one had ever looked at him like that before. Hell, he’d never _wanted_ someone to look at him like that before. Something heavy was hanging in the air as he realized that he was panting in perfect time with Harry. Harry was just staring at him, lip caught between his teeth, head tilted to the side. Louis couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take what it was doing to his own cock as he watched Harry’s palm himself. God, was it even possible to be this attracted to someone? Why was everything about Harry so fucking hot? Louis couldn’t take it. 

He dove forward, his lips finding Harry’s and his hands falling to Harry’s fly. The moan that slipped between their mouths might have come from him or Harry. It was kind of impossible to tell. Louis didn’t even need to look down, his hands were accomplishing the job just fine without his guidance and he realized this when he felt Harry’s flesh under his fingers. A hiss escaped from somewhere deep in his throat as he pulled back from their kiss and met Harry’s eyes. 

“Did you seriously not wear underwear to my house?”

He meant for the words to come out as a lighthearted joke, but they were more of a rasp and he felt unbalanced with the realization. 

Harry bit down on the wicked smile that spread across his face, making that fucking dimple appear and cause Louis even more unnecessary agony. 

“Just wanted to make your job easier,” said Harry a slight tilt to his head while he watched as Louis’ hands pushed the jeans down his hips. 

Control. Louis had to grasp for it because he was quickly spiralling and he would really prefer to survive this whole ordeal if he had even the slightest choice. 

“My _job_ ,” he said, his hands lingering on one of Harry’s ass cheeks, squeezing, “is to write you an album.”

Louis looked up at Harry through his lashes in a way that he knew typically drove his conquests crazy. With that, he bent his knees, dropping to the floor as he finished the task of pulling off Harry’s jeans. He watched Harry’s stomach clench as Louis’ face came close to his throbbing cock. He was so hard that Louis could only assume it was painful to wait for the friction he was craving. Louis wanted to taste him—no _needed_ to taste him—but he could wait. He had to regain some semblance of control first. He kissed one of Harry’s hips, feeling him jut forward, begging for Louis. Yes. Begging. That was something Louis wanted. He wanted to listen to Harry beg him and beg him until the room was spinning and Louis was trembling just at the mention of his own name. 

Okay, wow, reign it in, Tommo. 

He looked up at Harry who’s chest was heaving and the second their eyes locked Louis realized that he could probably spend the rest of his life on his knees in front of this boy. There was no question about how Harry was feeling. He wasn’t trying to play it cool at all. He just wanted Louis and even though it had no right to be, it was simple. 

“Please don’t confuse _this_ ,” Louis said as he licked a stripe along the underside of Harry’s cock, “as treatment I give to everyone I work with.”

Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. It sounded oddly emotional. Maybe that was the exact opposite of what Harry wanted to hear. It probably should be. But fuck it because Louis _felt_ oddly emotional. Red flags were flying up everywhere. They really shouldn’t be doing whatever this was. 

But Harry tilted his head back, slamming it into the wall. It sounded like it should have hurt but Louis saw his cock twitch. 

Interesting. Noted. 

“Technically,” Louis spoke slowly as he played with Harry’s balls, “you’re distracting me from my job. Reprehensible, really.”

Harry’s eyes were shut and he tried to rock forward, to force himself against Louis’ mouth, but Louis quickly reacted, grabbing his hips and forcing him harder against the wall. He didn’t miss the way that Harry’s lashes fluttered against his cheeks and the forcefulness of the gesture. 

“I can make it up to you.”

And was it possible for Harry to sound so fucking wrecked when Louis had barely even done anything? He wasn’t playing fair. 

“How?” Louis punctuated the word with a breath across the tip of Harry’s cock. Again, he tried to rock forward, but Louis’ thumbs pressed harder into his hipbones, holding him in place. 

Harry looked down to Louis, his pupils blown and his breathing laboured, “I—wha-whatever you want. _Tell me_.”

Fuck everything. Fuck every last thing on earth because Harry wasn’t supposed to be like this—it was never like _this._ Not on the first go around. He barely even knew Louis, but Harry trusted him on an almost naive level. It seemed to be instinct. Like he knew that Louis would take care of him—and he wasn’t _wrong_ , but it just wasn’t normal okay? It wasn’t supposed to be like this from the word ‘go’. This was the kind of thing that normal people worked up to, wasn’t it? Harry was so responsive…so willing to hand over control and Louis’ head was swimming with ideas that, apparently, he had full reign to act out? It was just a lot to process. 

Louis really wanted to hold himself together. He really wanted to prove that he _could_ lead Harry through this whole thing—but that was really fucking hard with the way his head was swimming with just the scent of Harry’s arousal and the way that he found his thumbs fit perfectly against Harry’s hipbones. It was really hard to focus on anything aside from his own arousal—which had his cock pressing hard against the fly of his jeans. 

Again, without a word to prompt him, he felt Harry trying to thrust himself forward. Louis pushed back, looking up up at him. There were a million things running through his mind, but Louis didn’t know what thing to say. He didn’t have a fucking clue what he was doing, but Harry was so willing to let him decide and he wanted to reward him for that. He wanted to prove to Harry that he could give him whatever it was he needed. 

“Louis, fuck,” Harry’s breathing was heavy and his eyes were pressed closed, his head tilted against the wall and if Louis had thought he’d looked like a wet dream come to life with his clothes on? Well, with his clothes off and his hard cock a few inches from Louis’ face? Harry was the embodiment of everything Louis had ever wanted.

Oh, fuck. No, no, no. Louis was about 10 steps ahead of himself. 

Get it back on track, Tommo. 

“Please,” Harry’s voice sent a pin prick of pleasure directly to Louis’ throbbing dick. He’d already wasted so much time. He tightened his grip on Harry’s hips and laid a soft kiss on the tip of Harry’s cock. 

“You’re so pretty when you say please,” Louis barely recognized his own voice. 

He didn't know why this felt so different than it had every other time he’d been knelt down in front of a pretty dick. Was it just the fact that they both knew they _shouldn’t?_ That they’d both agreed that they shouldn’t, but it was happening any way? Like the universe had made it’s decision without much of their input at all? There had been something tugging at the back of Louis’ mind from the second he’d laid eyes on Harry and he felt like he wasn’t in control of any of it. He couldn’t let Harry see that, though. Not with the way he was staring down at him with all the faith in the world that Louis could take care of him. 

Fucking Christ, this was a lot to handle. 

Again, Louis ran his tongue down Harry’s cock, feeling off balance at the taste. It was so fucking _good._ They hadn’t even _done_ anything and it was good. God, Louis might be ruined—but that wasn’t a thought he could entertain right then. He took Harry’s tip between his lips feeling Harry’s hips strain against his hands. Louis was very aware that Harry was stronger than him—that he could probably push harder than Louis could, but Harry didn’t want to. He wanted Louis to lead him. Imagine that? A boy who wanted to be lead, and wasn’t even shy about it? Again—wet dream come to fucking life. Louis was doomed. 

Louis pulled off of Harry, looking back up at him, “you want me to suck you off?”

It sounded like Harry was choking on his own tongue. He centred himself before responding by throwing his head hard against the wall again. Louis saw as the pain prickled across Harry’s face and couldn’t resist licking his shaft again when he saw Harry’s dick move in response to the painful sensation. 

“I—yeah, yeah, Louis whatever you want.”

“Okay,” Louis said, digging his thumbs harder into Harry’s hips, “if you can stay still for me, I’ll let you come down my throat.”

“Oh—kay.”

Harry lost all sense of control then, his hands burying themselves into Louis’ hair. He tugged harshly at it when he felt Louis’ mouth on him again. It felt like Louis’ skin was buzzing across every centimetre with each tug Harry gave him. 

True to his word, though, Harry’s hips stayed glued to the wall, Louis barely having to remind him at all to stay still. Slowly, piece by piece, Louis watched through his lashes as Harry crumbled before him. Harry’s cheeks flushed pink, his eyes watering as he felt himself hitting the back of Louis’ throat. Louis watched as Harry’s abs clenched and shook as he tried to hold back from coming too soon. Best of all, though, he watched as Harry’s body tightly coiled and then relented completely, his knees bending and his taste coating the back of Louis’ throat. 

 _Moremoremore,_ was all Louis could think about as he pulled off of Harry’s dick. Instantly Harry’s knees bent and he slid to the floor, cheeks flushed and forehead sweaty. There was something about the way he smelled, about the way he tased on Louis’ tongue that made Louis decide he was very much not done taking him apart. Harry was still much too together. Louis wanted to see him sweaty and spent, his come colouring Louis’ sheets and his hands trembling at just the mention of Louis’ cock. 

Okay, yeah. That had to happen. Louis had to be inside of him. Even the thought of it was making Louis’ underwear sticky. 

His mouth crashed against Harry’s and Harry whimpered as he licked against his own taste. Louis wasn’t sure how they’d gotten there, but suddenly Harry was spread out on his bed and Louis was on top of him, three fingers deep as Harry thrashed beneath him. With the hand that wasn’t currently fingering Harry, he gave himself a few tugs. Immediately Harry’s hand came out to grasp his wrist. 

“No,” his voice was raspy and panicked, “no. Want you, in—inside m-me.”

Despite how fucking spent Harry’s must have been from coming so recently, Louis looked down at him and saw his cock curved against his stomach, leaking again. Harry was too much. Louis squeezed the base of his dick. He needed this to last. He could have come just from watching Harry thrash beneath him and whimper every time Louis’ fingers hit that bundle of nerves inside of him—but Harry didn’t want that. He wanted Louis inside of him and that was something that Louis really couldn’t argue. 

He bent down to kiss Harry again just as his scissored his fingers inside of Harry. Harry bit down on Louis’ bottom lip, hips jutting up and pressing their hard ons together and fuck everything because how on earth was Louis supposed to stand a fucking chance at surviving this?

“Fuck,” Louis breathed, pulling back to look down at Harry. He made no move to remove the three fingers inside of Harry, inside he thrust them harder in and out a couple of times and watched as Harry’s hand shot out to grab his own dick, desperate for any sort of friction as he fell apart around Louis’ appendages. 

“Uh-uh,” Louis said, grabbing Harry’s wrist with his free hand. He gave it a tight squeeze, “want you to come without being touched.”

Harry closed his eyes and pressed harder against Louis’ fingers, “b-but, want you to come in me.”

“Next time,” Louis said—and _no._ There shouldn’t be a promise in there. There shouldn’t be a next time…

Louis took a second to evaluate the position they were currently in. Harry was spread out on his back, Louis kneeling between his legs, knuckle deep inside of the beautiful boy beneath him. Maybe Louis was about a million steps ahead of himself, but all he could think about was the way that Harry’s sweat had made a few corkscrew curls appear against his temples. Harry was too much. He was too responsive and too pretty to be real. Maybe Louis was stuck in a dream and he’d wake up to find out that Harry had never been there for real—that was the most logical explanation because people didn’t just connect like this. That’s what it felt like. It felt like Harry was giving him parts of himself and Louis was working so fucking hard to take proper care of those parts. It wasn’t like this. It had _never_ been like this and that realization weighed a million pounds and Louis really didn’t want to think about it…but it was written everywhere on Harry. 

Louis reached down and started to work his hand up and down his shaft in time with the way he fingered Harry. Every time he hit the right spot inside of Harry he saw his abs clench and he tossed his head against the pillows. It only took a handful of thrusts against his prostate before he saw Harry's pretty pink dick spilling all over his own stomach—and Louis wasn’t a romantic, not really, but fuck if his chest didn’t flutter at just the sight of watching Harry come undone. Harry tightened around his fingers and only took a half a second before he, too, came all over his own fist and Harry’s stomach. 

Yeah, No. It wasn’t normally like this. It had never, ever been like this in the last thirty years of Louis’ life and he was fucked. Literally and figuratively because now this was a thing. This was very much a thing that he was going to crave for the rest of his fucking life because Harry Styles had quite literally blown his fucking mind. 

 

…

 

Exhaustion started to overwhelm Harry as he watched Louis flop down next to him. There were about a million words on the tip of his tongue but the thought of speaking was impossible. Every single muscle in his body was aching in the most pleasant way. He could hardly remember more than a handful of times that he’d come more than once in a couple of hours—but Louis had just made him come twice in the span of probably less than an hour (but time didn’t really exist anymore did it? It felt like the only thing he was aware of more than the ache in his own body was the proximity of Louis’ body). He felt amazing—but even more than that he felt spent. There was nothing left inside of him and he gave in to the tug of sleep, vaguely aware of the feel of Louis’ fingers lightly tracing the planes of his face. 

It wasn’t really a bad place to fall asleep. He felt safe—which was an odd thing to feel as he drifted off next to someone he didn’t really _know._ But he wanted to—wanted to know every last thing there was to know about Louis and the rest of the world could fucking wait because first Harry had to sleep and then he had to give in to the barrage of questions at the back of his mind. He needed to know everything there was to know about Louis because they’d connected. Harry hadn’t connected with a person for years. Maybe that was why there was such a sense of nagging neediness in his chest. He and Louis had just shared something that was a lot more unexpected than just sex. Whatever it was that had just happened—it had never ever happened to Harry before and he could only hope that it hadn’t happened to Louis either. 

 

Harry felt a warm, wet cloth against his temples. He wanted to open his eyes, but the room was too peaceful. He felt Louis’ fingertips along his jaw and let out a satiated ‘mmm’ before he felt lips on the tip of his nose. He smiled despite the fact that every part of his body protested any sort of motion. He felt the warm cloth again, this time Louis was wiping up the mess that he’d somehow forgotten about on his stomach. There was a sort of flutter happening in his chest at that realization. He’d been so… _spent_ after what had just finished. He’d tried so hard first to focus on keeping his hips still and then he’d been trying to hard to focus on _not_ seeking out the friction he’d so desperately needed. Louis had been specific. Had told him what he couldn’t do and Harry had tried so hard to listen and keep his cheeky promise to make things up to Louis however he decided.

The thing was, Harry liked to give up control. He craved it, but it was rare to find a safe place to do it. It was rare to find someone who knew exactly what to do with the offer. Caitlin certainly had never understood. It was a funny thing, too, because Harry had somehow lost complete control in his real life and there wasn’t a single part of him that enjoyed it. There was no safety in the lack of control in the rest of his life—but this was somehow different. This time he’d seen the sincerity behind Louis’ eyes and he’d somehow known that this could be a safe place to drop his walls. 

But Louis was _so_ good. There was no comparison. Maybe lack of control was the norm for Harry, but this was the only real place where he benefitted. Now Louis was cleaning him up and softly kissing the ferns on his hips and generally just _being_ there in a very surprising way. 

Finally, he found the energy to open his eyes and saw Louis looking down at him. He was wearing the white t-shirt Harry had arrived in, practically swimming in the garment. He was wearing his underwear again, too. Shame, that. Louis’ eyes smiled at him first and it was striking that he could notice such a subtlety.

“How are you feeling?” Louis’ voice was like warm honey: sweet, familiar. _Home._

Somehow Harry found the ability to move, despite the protest in his muscles and scooted to the centre of the bed, patting the spot next to him. “Tired,” was the only word he could manage to get out. 

Louis’ lips smiled then, too, as he dropped the cloth to the floor. He looked down at Harry, “you telling me you want to have a cuddle, then?” his tone was playful. 

Harry nodded once, reaching an arm out to grab Louis’ wrist, “need,” he said tugging. 

He saw a sort of fondness sparkling in Louis’ eyes and he wanted to get lost in it. He wanted to be the reason that Louis’ eyes sparkled. He wanted so much that he could barely sort through it. 

The second Louis’ head hit the pillow next to him, Harry felt his whole body relax. They laid on their sides, noses barely a centimetre apart and Harry could see every single piece of stubble that dusted Louis’ cheeks. He wanted to also make a mental note of exactly how many freckles he found and he wanted to memorize the angles of Louis’ jaw. He’d also wanted to devote maybe an entire song on his album to the hollows of Louis’ cheeks and the way that when he reached his hand out to stoke them with the back of his hand, Louis’ cheeks took on a soft pink glow. He shuffled closer to Louis’ then, sliding the palm of his hand underneath the hem of Louis’ stolen shirt and resting it against the soft dimples of his lower back. He lifted his top leg then, resting it over the swell of Louis’ bum. The skin of his oversensitive cock protested a bit as it brushed against the grainy fabric of Louis’ underwear, but he could deal. 

Harry could feel every breath that Louis took with their chests pressed so tightly together. Softly Louis nudged his nose against Harry’s, his hand moving to brush an errant curl from Harry’s eye. Fuck. This guy. Louis was so much. Slowly, Louis started to kiss him. It didn’t feel anything like it had the previous night. There was a softness to it, to the way that Louis took his time opening his mouth against Harry’s. There was no burning behind it, no desperation for _more_ because it was kind of hard for Harry to imagine that there could be more. He felt like he’d already tasted exactly what heaven had to be like. Harry had seen an angel, he really had. There was no other explanation for why Louis could be so many things at once. He could somehow mold himself into whatever Harry needed at whatever moment and there couldn’t be another explanation. 

Harry pulled back then, tucking his head against Louis’ neck and closing his eyes. He inhaled slowly, breathing in the heady scent of Louis’ sweat. Something just kept happening inside of his chest. It felt like a windstorm. His lungs burned a bit, but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was just the opposite. Harry wanted to get lost in the feeling. He felt Louis adjusting them, so he was laying on his back and Harry was safely tucked against his chest, leg still draped possessively across Louis because selfishly he didn’t want to ever think that someone else would _ever_ get to see Louis like this. 

He knew that it wasn’t fair—but life wasn’t _fair._ If life was fair it never would have dropped Louis into his lap. It never would have made this whole thing feel so inevitable. 

Louis’ fingertips tickled Harry’s arm lightly, “hey, Harry?” Louis’ voice felt so out of place, but Harry liked the way he felt the rumble of it from where he was pressed against his chest. 

Before answering, Harry pressed a firm kiss against Louis’ collarbone, hoping that somehow he was conveying the way he felt, “yeah.”

Louis held him a little bit tighter, Harry didn’t miss the gesture, however slight it might have been. “Are we going to talk about all of that?” Harry was silent, so Louis continued, “like…about what it means?”

Harry felt fear prickle down his spine. He didn’t want to be reminded that what they’d done was wrong, because it didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense that something that felt so fucking right could ever be wrong. The rest of Harry’s life felt wrong—but this was the first thing in a long time that felt right. 

But he couldn’t say that, could he?

“Do you want to talk about it?” He didn't know what he wanted the answer to be. Nothing made sense. He had no right to expect that Louis would be okay with this continuing. He had no right to harbour a single expectation…but he wanted, wanted, wanted Louis and he was probably willing to risk way too much to have him. His whole career, this whole opportunity had come up because he was married to someone who knew the right people. Everything Harry had, that he should want to keep, was based on his marriage to Caitlin and this? This, whatever magic had exploded between he and Louis? It was the antithesis of his marriage…and Harry should care more.

“Very much so,” Louis’ voice was certain, strong. Harry grasped onto that. 

“Yeah, okay,” he moved to lay on his stomach, arms sprawled across Louis’ chest. He rested his head on his wrist, looking up at Louis, “I guess…first off you should know this isn’t, like, a thing that I do.”

“This isn’t, like, a thing you do?” Louis’ teasing was slight and the curve to his mouth eased the tension in Harry’s spine. He was taking the piss out of the less than eloquent wording Harry had chosen. Was it possible to be addicted to a human being? If so, he was pretty certain that Louis was heroin. 

“I mean…” he didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to face what this was because it was so easy to be lost in the fantasy that they were allowed to keep this, “cheating. That’s not…who I am. I’m not that guy, Louis. I swear that to you. I’ve never done this before—its just… _you.”_

Louis’ eyes softened despite the sarcasm in the words he chose next, “you realize that sounds like a line, right? You do talk some shit, Styles.” 

Harry huffed in annoyance, because he sincerely hoped that Louis didn’t actually believe that. It wasn’t a line. Maybe Harry had made a lot of mistakes in his life—but he’d never cheated. He’d never _wanted_ to. Even though maybe it did sound like exactly the kind of line any guy might use to lure in their next conquest…well, it just wasn’t. Harry wasn’t that guy. Really and honestly it _was_ just Louis. 

“I’m—it’s not…” Harry didn’t have a fucking clue how to say whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“I know.” Louis’ voice was certain. 

He knew. Louis knew that despite the fact that the situation reflected very poorly on Harry that it wasn’t the case. Harry wasn’t using a line—he wasn’t lying at all—and Louis saw it. 

They were quiet a moment then, Harry shifting back into Louis’ side. Louis held him just as tight. He hadn’t ruined anything. It was a fucking miracle.

“Hey, Lou?” the short form slipped out without thought and he braved a glance up at Louis. His eyes looked bluer, mischief burning in them once again. 

“Yes, Harold.”

Harry chuckled slightly at that, “my full name is Harry, by the way.”

He felt Louis shrug, “I like Harold.”

Harry felt like The Grinch Who Stole Christmas because he was pretty certain that in that exact second his heart swelled to six times it’s size. Louis wanted to give him a nick name. Harry wanted to press whatever that meant against his chest and never let go. He laid a half a dozen kisses against Louis’ neck and collarbone and even though he’d been convinced just a few moments ago that he’d never move again…it felt pretty possible that he might be able to go another round. Impressive, that. 

“Where did you grow up?”

It was such a basic get-to-know-you sort of question that he half expected Louis to tease him again, or maybe to refuse to answer entirely because Harry had no right to _want_ to get to know him. Not on a real level. This was about sex, wasn’t it? 

_It was wasn’t it???_

Harry’s brain started to short-circuit around the answer that poked at the back of him— _no_ —but thankfully Louis interrupted any further panic with a cheeky response. 

“Guess,” Harry  felt lips in his hair then and he could really get used to this. To their bodies curled together and Louis’ voice humming in the most pleasant way against his eardrums. 

“If I had to guess, I’d say your accent is Northern.”

Harry had no right to feel comfortable. Had no right to feel at home. 

But he did. 

“Bingo,” responded Louis, “born and raised in Doncaster. What about you ‘not Harold’?”

Harry smiled, “Cheshire, in a village called Holmes Chapel.”

“Mmm,” Louis said, seeming content with the answer. Harry was trying to think about where to bring the conversation next, but Louis seemed to jump on board pretty quickly. Harry tried not to get lost in the notion that they were on the same page. “Siblings?” was all Louis said. 

“Just one sister, Gemma. She’s older. What about you?”

“Well, my gorgeous mother and I managed to somehow bring up four lovely, fairly well adjusted sisters.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile at the fondness that Louis conveyed with the adjectives he’d chosen to describe his family. 

“So you must be the oldest then?”

“Yeah, mum got remarried when I was six and had my oldest sister when I was seven. Basically I was forced into a life of changing nappies and babysitting. Not that I minded. They’re great girls, all of them. Mum too.”

“Are they still in England?” He felt Louis nodding in response, “you must miss them.”

“I do…” Louis dragged out the word for a bit longer than necessary. Harry sensed a Hesstation there. Maybe Louis wanted to talk about it more. He wanted to listen. 

“But?” he prompted Louis in the least invasive voice he could manage. 

“My life is…hectic. I don't get to spend as much time with them as I’d like to.”

“I’m sure they understand,” offered Harry. 

“Maybe,” Louis seemed to doubt the words, “I still—like, feel guilty or whatever. Feels like I got this opportunity 10 years ago and hopped on a plane and never looked back. I’ve been in America so long…sometimes I think its easy to forget where I came from. To forget the people who made me who I am—the girls I mean, mum, too. I wanted to make them proud but sometimes I just feel like I abandoned them.”

Harry contemplated his response for maybe a beat too long because Louis rushed in with more words. 

“Er—sorry. That was uncalled for. I guess I shouldn’t be asking the married man I just shagged to check my moral compass for me, eh?”

Was that a dig…? Or was he just playing? Harry didn’t know how to respond. Then he felt Louis playfully pinch his butt cheek, lips in his hair. 

“Relax, Styles, about 90 percent of what comes out of my mouth is sarcasm and the other 10 percent is just me talking shit. You’ll get used to it.”

More words Harry wanted to press against his chest. More words that suggested that Louis _wanted_ Harry to get used to him. It was all just more evidence that stacked up to prove that Harry might not be wrong about what was happening here. They were connecting—conversation easily ebbing and flowing from the things they should talk about to the things they _wanted_ to talk about and that was rare. There were only a handful of people in his life that Harry could converse with like this…and most of that had evaporated recently. There had been a time in his life where Harry could stay up late in the night at the kitchen table with his mum and sister as they all spilled their guts—but when Harry’s unhappiness had sunken in he’d stopped being so transparent. It was important to him, somehow, that people who loved him didn’t see that he was suffering.

While lost in his thoughts, Harry almost missed the fact that Louis was humming under his breath. It seemed to be a subconscious thing, and Harry listened briefly before demanding to know more. 

“What are you humming?”

Confusion flickered in Louis’ eyes, like he first had to realize that he’d been humming at all. Then recognition settled in and he nodded once, “uh—the melody? The one I old you about? For your ghosts?”

“Well, fuck!” exclaimed Harry, thinking back to the words in his notebook and how the melody fit them perfectly. Somehow, he found strength again, sitting upright, “I want to hear that on guitar,” he mumbled, climbing out of the bed aiming for the general direction of the gorgeous Martin acoustic hanging on the far wall. 

He paused at the edge of the bed, picking up his pants from the floor. Louis propped himself up on his elbow, watching Harry, a crease between his brow, “what are you doing?” it sounded like an accusation. 

Harry paused, one foot in his pants and met Louis’ eyes, “uh, was gonna grab the guitar? Finish the song, maybe?” 

“No,” said Louis, shaking his head and pointing to Harry’s pants, “what are you _doing?”_

Harry cracked a smile then, “putting on pants.”

“Uh-uh,” scolded Louis, shuffling into a sitting position, “my house, my rules. Naked song writing. You absolutely may _not_ put those god forsaken things back on.”

 

…

 

Harry could pinpoint the exact moment that he knew Louis was finally awake. It was the moment when his hands found Harry’s hair, a sigh escaped his throat and his hips thrust him deeper into the back of Harry’s throat simultaneously. Harry had been blowing Louis for approximately 4 minutes already, and really it was about bloody time he clued in. Louis found a rhythm then, not seeming to need a single second to wake up and he fucked Harry’s mouth—not that Harry minded. It was much better when Louis guided him. Four minutes of unconscious work up and a few good thrusts was apparently all it took to have Louis’ hips twitching as he came down Harry’s throat. 

Harry pulled off of him with a ‘pop’, feeling cum on the left side of his mouth. He rested his palms on Louis’ tummy, placing his chin on top and smiling up at Louis, waiting for comment. 

“Usually I’m opposed to rigorous activity before tea…but I see now you’re the exception to that, too.”

Harry’s mouth widened and his tongue darted out to lick the remaining come from the corner of his mouth. He felt Louis’ hips buck a little as he tracked the motion. Harry grinned wickedly, “I’d hardly call that rigorous on your part. Barely took a whole minute.”

“What can I say Harold, I know what I want and I went for it.”

It was only the fourth day he’d been in Vegas—only the third morning he’d woken up with Louis on his mind so he had no real reason to think that Louis was no longer talking about the blowjob…but about him. No real reason at all, save from the way that Louis urged him back to the top of the bed, rolling him onto his back and climbing on top of him, pressing his thigh between Harry’s legs, directly against Harry’s hardening cock. No reason at all aside from the way Louis’ mouth was at his ear. 

“Seems you’ve got a bit of morning wood yourself here, Styles. Want me to help you with that?”

And really, all of that about summed up how the last couple of days had played out. They’d switched back and forth pretty effortlessly between naked song writing and naked…not song writing. True to his word, Louis had kept his promise to Harry and had fucked him into the mattress just hours after he’d handed Harry the perfect melody for his ghosts. There had been other break-throughs, too. Lyrics that Louis had written that he’d shared with Harry. He’d also shown him a thing or two about shower sex that night. They’d also plugged in one of the Les Pauls that was hanging on Louis’ wall and had started chipping away at a new song that thus far didn’t have any words more than ‘woo-woo’ which was fine, because Harry was on his way to feeling pretty inspired as Louis’ hands found their way to his dick. 

They’d established a lot of things—first and foremost was that they actually _could_ write songs together. Second and maybe most importantly, they’d established that they were in possession of two bodies that were extremely fond of each other. That was only part of it, though, and that was something that Harry thought they were establishing, too. They’d gone out to Louis’ favourite Thai restaurant the previous night and Harry had sat across the table from him, blushing as Louis complimented his ability to swallow on a millisecond's notice (which was probably one of Harry’s proudest accomplishments). He’d laughed and watched the way the dim lights never seemed to dampen the brightness of Louis’ irises. It wasn’t _just sex_ , see? Harry wasn’t an idiot. There wasn’t a single thing that Louis had shown him that didn’t make his chest tighten with fondness. So he’d smiled at Louis from across the table and whispered to him ‘ _hey, Lou, is this a date?_ Louis had scoffed, pretending to be put off by the question, despite the fact that he was wrapping his foot around Harry’s ankle under the table. _‘Why Harold, I’m a professional. This is a work function.’_ Louis hadn’t liked the way Harry’s expression had fallen, that became obvious when he reached across the table and lifted Harry’s chin so they could meet each other’s eyes. _‘Do you wish I could take you on dates?’_ There was a sombreness to the question, like he felt the sting of reality just as much as Harry did…Harry wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. He nodded, trying to stare back down at the table, put Louis kept his chin tilted upright, ‘ _hey,’_ he whispered loudly. Harry risked meeting his eyes—they were soft. _‘it’s a date Harold. Don’t you dare tell the paps. Don’t want me mum to see my face on The Sun in the morning, yeah?’_

The final thing that they’d established? Well that had come in the form of a handful of rushed phone calls over the past couple of days. When Caitlin had called the first time it had taken Harry a full five minutes of staring at his phone before he’d been brave enough to glance up to Louis. Louis had been staring out his window, like he’d been pretending the whole thing wasn’t happening. But it had and Harry should have felt a very different kind of guilt than the kind he felt while staring at Louis as he looked out the window. 

What he should have felt was pain over doing something so awful to someone who hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Caitlin had no idea he and Louis were sleeping together…but for some reason the only guilt that was brewing inside of him was directed at the pain he saw reflecting in Louis’ eyes. The pain he didn’t want to share with Harry…

And that was something. That was something that Harry couldn’t possibly be making up. Harry had to face his real life and that hurt Louis and the only explanation for that was that Louis cared. He had to care about Harry on a deeper level than just sex or else he wouldn’t have reacted the way he had. 

Louis had stared out the window without a word and Harry had started at Louis without a word for what felt like hours as the sun started to set through the partly closed blinds. Harry watched the way the shadows had danced across Louis’ face and wished passionately that he had learned how to paint so he could show Louis exactly what he got to see. He wished, too, that he knew what to say to make the pain fall from his expression. Finally, though, when the dusk started to take over the room, Louis’ voice floated through the stillness between them. 

“That was…”

“I’m sorry,” Harry rushed. 

“…reality.”

He was quiet again and so was Harry. There was nothing he could say to argue it. It was reality. Caitlin was oblivious and she would keep calling because she was Harry’s _wife_. It had no right to feel so wrong. They both knew that. 

Louis exhaled slowly, stress evident in the planes of his face. “I’m worried.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Lou— _fuck—_ I’m…”

“I’m worried,” Louis repeated the words, “I’m going to get hurt—you’re going to get hurt…” he pointed to Harry’s phone, “ _she’s_ going to get hurt. Harry we shouldn’t, you know?”

“I made a mistake,” Harry’s voice shook with the words, “I made a lot of mistakes when I was young and stupid…you’re not one of those mistakes, Louis and I’m sorry its a lot to ask and that I really shouldn’t ask…”

Louis’ eyes snapped to meet Harry’s then and Harry _knew._ He knew that he just had to ask because it had been something like thirty hours, but Louis already knew him better than anyone else. He had to ask and Louis had to say yes because their stars had aligned. It was supposed to be this—to be _them._  

“Please, Louis, please do this with me. I haven’t been myself for a long time. Everyone is always pulling me in a million directions but since I walked through your front door there’s only been one pull, you know? I just—I don’t want you to think I could ever see this as a mistake, Lou. You make me feel more like me than I have in years. Please, please I’m begging you. Don’t stop.”

And so, they’d established that ground rule, too. Harry took his calls on the balcony and Louis pretended not to notice. Harry didn’t dare mention a single thing that might relate back to the phone calls for fear of seeing whatever it was he’d glimpsed in Louis’ eyes during that first call. 

It was all precarious, really. It was all a perfect recipe for disaster, but all they had was three weeks, might as well fuck it all up as thoroughly as possible, right?

 

…

 

Harry’s journal was opened in front of him as he strummed loudly on the guitar in his hands. He had fiddled around with lyrics all afternoon while Louis had tidied up the flat and slipped outside to call one of his sisters. Now though, he felt Louis behind him, his hand on his shoulder and his lips against he back of Harry’s neck. Instinctively, Harry leaned into the gesture. 

“'I must admit I’d like to make you mine as I went about my business through the warning signs',” Louis read the words from Harry’s journal, chuckling lightly and resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder. “Who’s it about?” he whispered into Harry’s ear, sending shivers down Harry’s spine. 

“Could be about anyone, I guess,” Harry tried to be cheeky, but he failed as he felt Louis nipping at his neck. 

“You twat,” he said, “obviously I know it about me. I’m flattered really. You think I’m an angel.”

Harry laughed, pointing to the words, “says ‘she’s an angel’—you’re not a ‘she’.”

Louis scoffed, “you clearly went back and added the ’s’, it barely fits in the space.” Louis kissed his cheek then, wrapping his arms tighter around Harry. “Besides,” he reasoned, “that bit there?” he said pointing to the page, “about being a devil in between the sheets? That part’s _definitely_ about me.” 

Harry shuddered as he felt Louis’ teeth along his neck, “could be about anyone, really.”

“Pfft,” Louis said as he removed the guitar from Harry’s lap and replaced it with himself, looking deeply into Harry’s eyes, “you can change the pronouns all you want, Styles, but I see you.”

And, well, he did was the thing. The thing that made this whole endeavour so much more complicated…but also so much more _worth_ it. It wasn’t just sex and it was getting to the point where neither of them could deny that.  

Although, with the sincerity burning in Louis’ eyes as he said the words, as he looked and actually _saw_ Harry…maybe neither of them were trying to convince themselves it was just sex. Harry could only hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next:  
> So far away   
> but she says I remind her of home
> 
> Hit me up on instagram @feels.like.home01 or Tumblr: make-thisfeellikehome


	3. Carolina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trash. Its been 4 million years. I'm sorry. I hope this chapter and a promise of more is enough to make up for my absence.
> 
> I saw Harry in Toronto on Saturday and listening to him sing Louis’ part in If I Could Fly gave me all the Larry feels I needed to get back to this.

_So far away_

_but she says I remind her of home_

 

“Hey, Lou?”

“Mm,” said Louis as he picked uptwo steaming mugs from the counter.

Harry was currently spread across Louis’ bed, feet tangled in sheets and skin still shimmering with a sheen of sweat (Harry insisted it was because Vegas was too hot, but Louis was chalking it up to the fact that they’d barely finished fooling around twenty minutes ago). Mornings with Harry were easy to get used to. Harry tended to wake up at ungodly hours, his internal clock still set to London time. Normally Louis would insist that waking up early was against his religion, but he could make an exception for Harry. Maybe that was to do with the fact that Harry defied the laws of physics by not actually having morning breath. Maybe it also had to do with the fact that he tended to reach for Louis dick before his lips, too, but who was counting?

Louis shuffled back over to the bed, placing the mugs on one of the end tables. He sat on the edge, running his hand from Harry’s thigh, across his bare bum and gripping onto one of his hips. Harry’s skin was always warm and inviting and Louis couldn’t resist dipping back down and giving one of his cheeks a little squeeze.

Harry giggled before speaking, “Hey, I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

“And I’m trying to cop a feel. Let me have this.”

Harry laughed proper this time, his dimple on full display as Louis gave his bum a firmer squeeze.

“I have a question,” insisted Harry.

“You have a million questions,” Louis was playing, though, because somehow those million questions were making this whole thing feel like something more.

“It’s research,” said Harry, rolling onto his backand making grabby hands at Louis.

And, well, who was Louis to deny an attractive and very naked man every last thing he wanted? So he smiled with half of his mouth, rolling his eyes and pretending to be inconvenienced as he crawled into Harry’s arms, mumbling something he didn’t mean about neediness.

“What are you researching?” Louis asked as Harry settled against his side.

“You. I plan to publish the encyclopedia of Louis Tomlinson. I want to know everything.”

A fondness far too large for his chest cavity wedged it’s way in and Louis’ lungs felt warm and his stomach swirled in a pleasant way. How easy it was to forget that this wasn’t what it felt like. How easy it was to forget that it could never actually amount to something more than sex. There were too many things standing in the way, but Harry felt so real, so present in places inside of Louis that he hadn’t even known existed.

“You’re foolish. No one would read that,” he said the words against Harry’s neck, lips lingering against the slightly damp skin.

“I would.” Harry’s voice conveyed a seriousness that Louis hadn’t expected.

Naturally, Louis wanted to argue. His ‘I’m right’ complex itching to cut in and remind Harry that he wasn’t supposed to say things like that. That he wasn’t supposed to pretend like this was something more, like he cared about Louis on that level.

But more than he wanted to be right, he wanted to savour his denial. He wanted things to be real. He wanted to be able to want that.

“Anyyyyway,” Harry stretched out the word, feigning annoyance, “I was just wondering, why Las Vegas? I mean, seems like everyone else is in LA.”

“I lived in LA for two years when I first came to America. I mean, California is fine, nice and all that but it’s a bit...much. It just wasn’t for me. It’s like the whole place is overrun with tourists and cameras and everyone wants something from you there. Not to mention that the lifestyle is just not fitting. Everyone has a gym membership and they’re all fucking obsessed with what restaurant has the best salad and fucking everything had avocado on it. It’s unnatural. It’s just not me. So I made a decent name for myself and finally got to the point where it wouldn’t matter where I was, the work would come.”

Harry’s finger tips traced a pattern slowly across his chest, “so why Vegas then, the L.A. thing makes sense.”

Louis was lost, lost, lost in that place that Harry took him. It was hard to contest reality with what things felt like. Harry wasn’t his—maybe he could never be his…he wanted that to set in. He wanted that to matter. He needed to keep reminding himself that even in a reality where Harry wasn’t married…it couldn’t work. It would never work because nothing before him ever had. Louis hadn’t even been able to put his own family over his work schedule, why would Harry be any different?

He wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t.

But still, his head spun with the fantasy.

“Well, I met my mate Steve at some industry party and he mentioned he lived here and invited me to one of his shows and I just kind of stuck around. I guess for me it was kind of the perfect in between. I’ve got the sun, that whole lifestyle without the chaos of everyone wanting a piece of it. It’s close enough to Los Angeles that I can go there when I need to, but far enough away that it doesn’t feel like I’m a part of it? If that makes any sense.”

Harry kissed his chest, lips still pressed to Louis’ skin, he spoke “makes perfect sense.”

“And then there’s the whole bit about how Vegas never really stops.” Was he still talking? Was he actually about to tell harry about his deepest, darkest secret? “It’s kind of hard to feel alone in a place that never slows down. Doesn’t matter if it’s 4 in the morning or 4 in the afternoon, there is always people out moving around.”

Harry seemed to grip him tighter, pressing closer to his chest. “You feel alone?”

“Er,” Louis hesitated because hadn’t he already shared too much with harry? Shouldn’t he be trying to hold back, to duck the blow that was going to come in the form of Harry leaving? Apparently, his mouth didn’t get the self-preservation memo because he was speaking again. “Well, I am alone. It’s a fact. I’ve got lots of mates and all that, but they’re scattered across the world. I guess... maybe there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely. I don’t get lonely much, I don’t have the time to be honest. I am alone though—sometimes I wish it was different but I did it to myself.”

Harry was quiet a moment before he spoke, his words breaking a hole open in Louis’ chest. “I’m always surrounded by people. There’s always someone. Tugging at my hair, telling me what I should say, telling me what to wear, how to carry myself. There’s always someone there and I’m lonely. I’m lonely all the fucking time because none of those people matter.”

He could see it. Louis could see it, okay? He could see that Harry was being honest, was showing him parts of himself that left him more than naked. This whole thing? This whole conversation? It was a lot more dangerous than just having sex with Harry.

“I’m not lonely now, though, Lou. That—well...this is the longest I’ve been like, able to breathe in probably two years. I just want you to know that because I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you’re the only person I’ve seen in days but somehow I’m the least lonely I’ve ever been.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” mumbled Louis, “you’re going to fool me into thinking this is something more than it is.”

Harry sat up abruptly, staring down at a stunned Louis. There was pain inside of his irises, pain that dripped into his voice.

“Is that what you think?” Harry sounded hurt and Louis didn’t understand it because all he’d done was point out a fact. All he’d done was remind Harry how things were. How they had to be. “You think I’m trying to fool you? You think I don’t want this to be something more? You think I don’t want you to feel the same way about me that I feel about you?”

Louis felt like he was on the verge of throwing up. Harry was hurt. Pain was evidenced in the way he held his jaw, in the crease between his brows, in the slump to his shoulders. Louis had done that. He’d let his words hold a coolness that he in no way felt.

“Harry...”

Harry huffed and bit his lip before he spewed words that tasted like some kind of redemption to a starved Louis. “If I would have met you three years ago, Louis, I wouldn’t be married today.”

There was a stubbornness in Harry’s voice. An honest promise buried beneath the shit mound that was their current situation. Louis felt tears stinging the back of his eyes because he’d never—not once in his life—had someone make him a promise like that. Sure, there’d been promises, but no one had ever meant their words the way Harry did. He could feel it. It was different and it wasn’t just him—Harry felt it, too. Enough to paint Louis an imaginary life based on beautiful ‘what if?’s.

“Why does everything you say to me sound like a line?”

Six days. Six fucking days and Louis already felt that he wasn’t going to survive this. There was no way he’d come out unscathed.

“Because you’re hiding behind defensiveness. You’re trying not to let your guard down.”

Harry’s words held a strong sort of stubbornness to them. He believed them and he wanted Louis to know that he saw him. That he saw through all his smoke and mirrors and into what he really wanted. The thing was, Louis should know better. He was trying to latch onto that and remind himself that when Harry left things would just go back to the way they’d always been. He couldn’t risk getting too swept up in the whole thing because he needed to remember how the ending went.

“Because I can’t let myself think it’s something different, Harry. I’m the one who gets hurt here, okay?”

“Do you honestly believe that? Do you actually believe that this isn’t going to hurt me? That’s hardly fair, Louis. This isn’t just about me. This is about _you_. If I was the kind of person you keep painting me as, I’d be doing this all the time. I could have had sex with a million people who aren’t Caitlin, Louis, but I didn’t because that’s not who I am. I’m not the kind of person who hurts the people I care about. It’s you, okay? It’s just you and I couldn’t help the fact that you make me wish my whole life was different, okay? I know you think it’s easier or something if you hold back, but I’m not holding back, Lou and I’m gonna fight you every step of the way because, yeah, it’s fucked up. This whole meeting was fucked up, but it’s real for me, okay? It’s not just about sex for me. It’s fine if you say it is for you, but I can see through it, Lou. It’s more. You’re more. We’re more.”

The part that was hardest to contest with, was the part of Louis that knew how genuine the confession had been. It was written in Harry’s features and Louis quietly wondered how he could possibly know someone this well after six fucking days. The worst part about it all was that Louis knew that if the situation was different, if the promises that harry was so willing to make were possible that he wouldn’t even have to consider it. It would be easy and completely thoughtless. He’d be with Harry and he’d move every mountain in his life to make himself available in all the ways he’d never been for everyone else. He’d pick Harry and Harry would pick him and it would be easy.

But this wasn’t easy. Looking deep into the forest that was Harry’s irises, all he could do was try to remind himself that it wasn’t easy. That the world that existed outside of his studio would prove treacherous and everyone would get hurt. All three of them, including and _especially_ Harry’s wife. The one who hadn’t even asked to be involved in this debacle.

And as if all of that wouldn’t prove hard enough, there was the matter of Harry not just being a normal person who blended into the crowd. Louis could hardly imagine what it would be like to see Harry’s face plastered all over the magazines in every supermarket. The accusations, the misunderstandings and how they would grate on Harry’s spirit.

Louis wasn’t ready for that. He’d worked alongside celebrities for more than a decade, but he’d never been a part of that life. He preferred life behind the scenes. He liked it that way because he’d watched his friends and colleagues suffer at the hands of life on a stage and he knew he didn’t want that. He had always sworn to himself that he’d never date someone in the industry, especially someone who fell into the ‘celebrity’ category.

“Anyway,” said Harry, “think what you want Louis, but believe me when I say I’m in it. You’re worth it.”

Louis huffed because whatever it was Harry was doing, it was working. Louis didn’t want it to work.

“You’ve only known me for six days, Harry. You don’t know that. You can’t know that.”

“Romeo and Juliette only knew each other for four,” argued Harry.

And well Louis couldn’t help the laugh that fell from his mouth, “Jesus Harry. I hope you’re not likening us to a pair of suicidal teenagers,” Louis smiled, looking deep into Harry’s eyes as the light came back into him, the memory of the harsh conversation melted away and Louis felt a soft warmth take him over. “I’m blatantly refusing to make you a suicide pact.”

Harry laughed then, too, and Louis cherished the light he saw turn back on in Harry’s eyes.

“If you’re a bird, I’m a bird,” Harry’s smile was gleeful and made him resemble something much younger and more innocent than he really was.

“Did you just quote _The Notebook_ on me? This conversation really has taken a turn. I’m embarrassed for you.”

Laughter still falling from his lips, Harry climbed on top of Louis. He grabbed both of Louis’ hands in his own and held them down while he ducked down to suck a love bite onto Louis collarbone. Maybe they were teenagers.

“You like it,” said Harry, kissing up Louis’ neck, “you like when I’m embarrassing.”

Louis rolled his eyes, staring up at Harry, “you’re a pain in the ass,” he said through his own grin. Harry’s eyes glittered in anticipation as he stared down at Louis, waiting for the rest. Louis freed one of his hands and pinched Harry’s bum, “and you’ve got about a ten second rebound before you’re back to doing the next pain in the ass thing.”

At the words, Harry grinned and dropped himself completely on top of Louis, clinging to him as tightly as he could. Louis could feel the grin that Harry pressed against his chest. His own smile wasn’t optional. He was making a royal mess of his life and he couldn’t fucking stop it. It was like a swerving car—he had no hope of regaining control and his only choice was to let go of the wheel and see where he ended up.

“We’d be so happy together,” Harry’s voice held a mournful tone to it. Louis wished that he could take it away.

“Yeah,” said Louis, “we would be.”

 

...

 

Harry put down the guitar in his hands suddenly, shaking Louis from his daze. He’d been focused on the chords Harry had been playing, humming lightly under his breath. They were on to something—again. Louis was still kind of amazed how quickly they moved from sex to serious conversation to jokes and then back to work. It all happened pretty seamlessly and Louis was really doing an awful job of not reading too much into it.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” Harry said out of the blue.

Louis looked away from the computer and met Harry’s eyes. He didn’t have to see himself to know there was fondness sparkling in his eyes. Louis was so fucked.

“Is it a Nicholas sparks movie marathon while snuggled on a couch with a fire roaring and cups of steaming hot cocoa and chocolate covered strawberries?”

Louis was kicking the parts of himself that were hoping that was exactly what Harry always wanted to do.

Harry giggled (again) and Louis melted (again), “there’s nothing wrong with wanting to live a good romance,” Harry tisked, getting up from the couch and pulling Louis computer chair back until there was enough room for him to straddle Louis and take up residence in his lap. He pressed a much too sweet for casual ‘cheating-on-your-wife’ kiss on Louis’ cheek and then resumed the conversation.

“Anyway,” he said running fingers through Louis fringe, “you know how in the movies people go to the airport and buy a ticket for the next flight anywhere?”

Louis was smiling before he actually gave himself permission.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to do that. I think, like, it wouldn’t matter where we ended up. I think if I got to go somewhere with you it’d be perfect without even trying.”

Louis touched Harry’s cheek with the back of his hand. A bad feeling settled alongside the heavy and present need to give Harry everything he wanted. He closed his eyes just as Harry leaned in the nuzzle his neck.

“You forget that you’re not mine to whisk away on grand romantic gestures, Harry.”

He felt Harry tense up at the words, and the regret was immediate as Harry started to pull away. Louis’ eyes shot open and he grabbed Harry’s shoulders, planting him firmly back on his lap. Harry’s eyes were sad, begging for Louis to just accept and pretend with him. Louis didn’t know if he could do it. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on reminding Harry over and over that things were wrong. Eventually he wouldn’t even notice the elephant in the room. Eventually he would let the last feeble part of his guard down and Harry would take him over. He’d let this mess dictate the rest of his life and he was in no way ready for the fallout. For the disappointment. For the hurt that would follow.

“Harold,” he said, placing his hand on Harry’s cheek, “don’t give me that look—Those Eyes—you know I’m right.”

Harry’s disappointment turned Louis’ stomach. He could feel the sadness pouring off of Harry in waves and the need to fix it was overwhelming. He wanted with everything in him for this whole thing to be different. He wanted to be able to relent to Harry’s every whim.

This time, as Harry tried to pull back, Louis didn’t fight him. Harry got to his feet and hung his head as he made his way back over to the sofa where he’d been sitting with the guitar. The upbeat cords he’d been playing just moments ago were now replaced with a slow sad strum and eyes that wouldn’t meet Louis’.

Louis made his decision before he could even dabble in regret. He got to his feet and made his way to the back of his apartment, pulling open the closet. He pulled out a suitcase that he’d been neglecting for the past couple of years (yes, it had been two years since he’d spent Christmas with his mother and the girls—yes, he was a trash person) and tossed it on the bed. Harry finally looked up from the guitar then, curiosity burning in his expression as Louis opened one of his drawers and tossed a t-shirt into the suitcase.

“What are you doing?”

There was a bite to Harry’s words. Louis felt the hurt still burning there, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. Louis could turn it around. Why was it so easy to erase everything bad that lived between them? Wasn’t it supposed to be harder? Wasn’t there supposed to be a million things standing in the way so that Louis would be able to properly evaluate just how wrong this whole thing was?

“Packing,” Louis’ voice was calm and even as he stated the obvious.

Louis glanced up from where he was rummaging through his underwear drawer and saw Harry biting his bottom lip, wrestling with a smile. Louis felt his own grin take over as he turned back around.

“Where are you going?” Harry said finally, his voice a touch lighter.

Louis turned back around and met Harry’s eyes, a smile on his lips, “don’t know,” he said watching as Harry tried to keep his own smile at bay, “isn’t that kind of the point?”

Harry’s brow creased and he narrowed his eyes, “I thought you didn’t like the idea.”

“’S not the idea, love,” Louis said, walking toward Harry, “it’s the circumstance that I’m struggling with.”

Harry got to his feet and pulled Louis into his arms, pressing his lips against his neck, “me too,” he said, kissing Louis’ skin softly, “me too, baby, but we’ll figure it out I promise.”

“Don’t make me promises you can’t keep, Styles,” Louis warned, even as he pressed himself closer to Harry, their lips meeting and tongues tangling in a slow slide that sent a warm glow through most of Louis’ body. He was fucked. So fucking fucked.

He pulled back slowly, pinching Harry’s bum, “now run along young Harold and get yourself packed. You better have a decent disguise in mind, too, because I don’t plan to be papped while in the middle of an international airport.”

Harry smiled then and it touched his eyes, making them sparkle bright green. “‘Kay,” he sang happily, kissing Louis cheek.

 

…

 

Harry grabbed his hastily packed bag and flung it over his shoulder. Excitement was rushing through his veins too quickly to bother waiting for the lift to take him down to the lobby. He paused quickly in the mirror before flying out the door of his hotel room. He pulled down the beanie on his head and adjusted his sunglasses. The smile on his face was bordering on permanent by this point in his trip. He didn’t question it. There was no point to just yet. Maybe the world that existed outside of Louis would sink in one day and threaten to crumble the whole thing, but he couldn’t think about that. Harry was a hopeless romantic and even though every single part about how he’d met Louis was wrong, Louis felt right. Louis fit. Every single part of him harmonized perfectly with Harry and Harry couldn’t risk questioning that. He couldn’t let the rest of the world ruin the sanctuary he’d spent 21 years trying to find.

He’d figure it out. All the rest of the pressures of his real life would have to bend to Louis’ will—they just had to. There was no other choice. This wasn’t just about something that Harry wanted—it was about something that he’d been missing his entire life. It was about that part of his soul that he somehow knew existed only within Louis.

It was crazy. It was bloody insane and Harry had no real right to feel so content and happy because this wasn’t a fairytale. This wasn’t going to just end in a happier ending for everyone involved. Things would change, lives would shift but there was something inside of him that screamed for that shift. There was an innate sense that while everything around them might crumble, somehow he and Louis wouldn’t fall apart. They’d work it out. They’d make a life in whatever was left and it would be beautiful. It would be worth it. It would be worth whatever cost came to Harry’s career. It just had to be because there was no way that someone could just walk into Harry’s life, awaken him and then cease to exist. Louis was more than that and even though he was putting up a horribly weak fight and trying his hardest to protect himself, Harry knew Louis felt it too. It was just a matter of time before he gave into the pull, the electricity, the magic that was their impossible relationship. Louis would give in and then they would work it out. The world would shift and Harry was so, so beyond ready to take that leap.

But that was crazy, wasn’t it? It was crazy that one week with someone made him realize that his entire life was a sham. It was crazy that he’d be willing to throw away so much that he’d fought so hard to have just to hold onto someone who was a stranger a mere seven days ago.

But that’s how it worked, didn’t it? That’s how soulmates worked. They were a lighthouse in a dark and stormy sea. They were solid ground while the rest of the world was crumbling. They were a safe place from chaos and Louis was all of those things. Harry had been drowning in a life that was being dictated for him, and there was Louis—a beacon of light on the horizon and who was Harry to question that? Who was Harry to not swim in the proper direction. Fuck the currents. Fuck the predators. He had landed safely on dry land with someone that made him forget what drowning felt like.

That was fate. It had to be.

 

…

 

When Harry arrived downstairs in the lobby he saw a black SUV already waiting for him. When he peeled open the back door a broad grin took over his face. There, sitting in the far seat was Louis. Harry hefted his bag onto the floor and resisted every urge inside of him to pull Louis in for a deep kiss. It was hard to accept the fact that as real as all of this felt there was an underlaying wrongness to the whole thing. Louis wasn’t his and he wasn’t supposed to be ready to scream from the rooftops that he was Louis’. He had to reign himself in. One of the first lessons any celebrity learned was that drivers—or any other outsider—couldn’t be trusted.

Louis was laughing before Harry ever had a chance to buckle up his seatbelt. “Heart shaped sunglasses and a hat?” Louis was trying hard and failing to convey any sort of seriousness. The corners of his mouth twitched as he spoke, “that is the grand disguise you chose for an international airport?”

Harry smiled at him, not speaking, just revealing in the idea that this was real. That they were about to walk up to a ticket counter and take the first flight anywhere. They were going to run off and just be them without the pressure of everything else and Harry could feel his skin buzzing at the idea. He wanted so badly to pretend with Louis.

“I don’t know if I’m more embarrassed to be seen with you, or if i’m just second hand embarrassed that you think those sunglasses are going to fool anyone.”

Harry elbowed Louis’ side, lips twitching in response to the teasing. He’d never admit it, but maybe the jokes were his favourite part about Louis. He liked the way his cheeks flushed as Louis took the piss and he liked the feeling that settled in his chest because he knew that it was fondness. He knew that Louis teased him because he was special. Harry was special to Louis and it had no right to feel like the best discovery in his entire life.

“This is the same disguise I use every time,” he argued without any real bite.

Louis’ hand migrated to Harry’s and he grabbed onto Harry’s pinky with his pinky. Harry’s smile felt permanent. “I can clearly tell it’s you,” Louis said with a shake of his head, “worst disguise ever.”

“That’s because you’ve seen me naked,”

Louis barked out a laugh, jabbing his elbow into Harry’s side. “No, actually. It’s because I’ve seen your pretty face plastered on billboards everywhere. I’d have spotted you from a mile away.”

“That’s because you’ve got a crush on me,” Harry said with a grin.

Louis rolled his eyes despite the fact that’s tightened his hold on Harry’s pinky, “yes. I’ve got a proper crush on you, don’t I?”

Harry beamed, resting every urge inside of him to tackle Louis and refuse to release him—ever. “You have a thing for me,” he stated proudly, “you want me to have your babies and all that.”

Again, Louis rolled his eyes, “I don’t think you understand how our anatomy works. Lord, you are too young for me, aren’t you?”

Harry could hear the fondness in Louis’ voice despite his teasing and it just kind of made it all better. There was no one else in his life who just wanted to _play_ everyone else was so bloody serious all the time and Harry needed this, too. He needed all the things that Louis was giving him.

Maybe Harry should be more afraid. Maybe he should be focusing more energy on the fallout and his survival when the bottom would certainly fall out of this whole thing. That would make sense. Eventually choices would have to be made and lives would have to change. He’d have to make a decision and most of him knew what it would be. But was it even fair to ask Louis? Was it fair to pull him into the media shit storm that would surely follow? Who was he to assume at all that Louis would even pick him? They’d talked about a lot of things for the past few days, but Harry still wasn’t confident. Maybe this was all that Louis was looking for. That would make sense. Louis had said time and time again that he’d chosen his career over everything. He didn’t have the time to properly devote to anyone. Wouldn’t that make this situation ideal? They couldn’t give each other more than these three weeks. Louis might want it to be that way. He might prefer it that way.

But he’d just dropped everything and agreed to catch the first plane to anywhere with Harry. He’d just locked the doors to his studio and left the city he hadn’t left in the better part for two years. Harry had barely even had to push the idea on him. He’d gone so willingly that it just made a million new questions open up in Harry’s mind. This wasn’t how flings, or affairs, or whatever it was they were doing, went was it? They weren’t supposed to so willingly come together. It wasn’t supposed to be this simple. The world wasn’t supposed to be giving Harry a million ‘go’ signals. Shouldn’t there be some kind of karmic payback in the form of smiting or something? It wasn’t supposed to be like breathing to be with Louis. It was supposed to feel wrong...

“Hey,” said Louis, sensing that Harry was lost in thought, “what if we end up somewhere really lame? What if we left Vegas for banjos and sweet tea and have to eat alligator? Americans are a strange lot, you know.”

Harry smiled proper now, “I hope we end up somewhere boring,” he mused, “do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been properly bored?”

Louis rolled his eyes dramatically again, “you’re a piece of work, Styles.”

“I just think that it isn’t going to matter. Where ever we land is exactly where I’ll want to be.”

“You’re so bloody cheesy I have indigestion.”

Harry smiled and lifted Louis’ and to kiss the back of it, glancing up to make sure the gesture wasn’t spotted by their driver. The man’s eyes were glued to the road so Harry left go of Louis’ hand and smiled the softest, most sincere smile he could manage, “I like being cheesy with you.”

Louis’ answering smile made Harry’s heart trip even faster. He watched as Louis’ blue eyes crinkled in delight, despite the words he chose next. “You’re just a boy looking for his very own romantic lead, aren’t you, Styles?”

“Nope,” said Harry, winding their pinkies together again, “not looking. Not anymore.”

 

...

 

Harry eagerly clutched Louis’ bag in his arms and watched as Louis spoke with the lady behind the counter. He could barely contain his excitement. Harry fiddled with his hat and adjusted his sunglasses just as someone passed by him slowly doing a double take. He kept his eyes on Louis, trying not to draw any unwanted attention. Eventually the girl moved on and Harry was left alone, leg bouncing up and down as he waited for Louis to bring over their plane tickets.

This whole being in public thing really wasn’t working out for Harry. Locked away in Louis’ studio they’d been themselves. Harry had torn down every single wall, had stripped away every pretence he could possibly think of so naturally. He’d been himself in ways that he’d forgotten he could be. It all came so easily with Louis. It was terrifying, but even worse was trying to contain it all again. How could Harry possibly put his public face back on when Louis was _right there?_ How could he not fuss over him, kiss him, hold his hand?

Life had been so, so good to Harry. At only 21 he had a career beyond his wildest dreams. He could almost guarantee that no matter what street he walked down, someone would spot him. Some kind person would ask for a hug and tell him about how he’d affected their life. And that was... _brilliant._ It really was.

It’s just...

It was a lot for Harry to handle. It had been a lot to handle when he didn’t have something to hide. Something to _protect._ He had to protect this thing with Louis at all costs. He has to cosset it and shield it from the harshness of the world. He couldn’t risk anyone else breaking it. He couldn’t trust the rest of the world to understand it. Hell, he could barely understand it. All that he knew was that when he looked at it, objectively, removing himself from the situation, he and Louis had something that some people searched most of their lives for.

Harry had made a hasty decision in his youth and if he’d had the ability to anticipate Louis they wouldn’t be in this mess. If he hadn’t married someone else it wouldn’t be like this. It wouldn’t be all disguises and hushed affection in the back of cabs. It wouldn’t be worrying about his eyes lingering too long on Louis features, lest someone notice, recognize who he was and start the snowball.

It wasn’t going to stay like this. It wasn’t going to get easier. It was going to get worse and Harry couldn’t risk any of that happening before he was certain what side Louis would stand on. He couldn’t risk sending Louis in any other direction. He needed him by his side.

Louis turned from the counter, then, boarding passes in his hand and a smirk he was trying to fight on the corners of his lips. Harry didn’t bother trying to fight his grin, he let it spread as Louis approached. He adjusted the bags as he got to his feet and met Louis blue eyes. There was excitement lighting them. Harry reckoned he could probably read everything Louis ever thought through his crystal eyes. He never thought it would be so easy to know someone like he already knew Louis.

Louis snatched his duffel bag back from Harry and flung it over his shoulder before reaching out and taking the handle of Harry’s rolling suitcase.

“Shall we?” He asked, playful smile set in place.

Harry couldn’t help but grin back, nodding excitedly, his chest fluttering in a way that he was beginning to become accustomed to.

“Great,” said Louis, walking forward with his own bag flung over his shoulder and rolling Harry’s behind him.

Harry followed instantly. “I can carry my own stuff, you know,” he pointed out as he fell into stride next to Louis.

“Thought you were a proper pop star,” teased Louis, “I didn’t realize you could carry your own things _and_ fly coach.”

“Heyyy,” said Harry pretending to pout, “I can pull my own weight.”

“I’m sure you can, love,” Louis said, continuing to pull the suitcase.

Harry fell in stride next to Louis, a smile still set in place as he wrestled with his desire to twine his fingers with Louis’. “So,” he started, “where are we headed?”

Louis looked to him then, a smirk on his lips and as he wiggled his eyebrows, “wouldn’t you like to know.”

Despite the teasing behind his words, Louis handed the boarding passes to Harry. Harry’s eyes scanned the page. He didn’t know what he’d expected to see written there, but excitement rushed through him as he read the words aloud, “Charlotte, North Carolina.”

It probably could have said anything on that piece of paper and Harry probably would have had the exact same reaction, but it felt special. It felt like something. He’d never been there, and that added to it. Now he had a place that existed only with Louis.

Why did it feel like the most romantic thing in the world?

 

…

 

Harry’s laughter echoed through the room as Louis dragged him by the wrist through the empty museum. It had been a solid 30 minutes since they’d crossed paths with another person and Louis was swimming in the joy he felt at that. They were out in the middle of nowhere, walking through the Nascar Hall of Fame and acting like a normal couple and no one was around to ruin that.

Shit. Louis shouldn’t be thinking like that, though. Those words, those feelings, they were dangerous. He’d do well to remember that he and Harry were, in fact, not a couple. They couldn’t be. Not really. No matter how much it felt like it sometimes.

Harry had this lightness about him, though, since they’d escaped Vegas 6 hours ago. There was a visible sort of light inside of him as they walked through the foolish museum that neither of them really cared to see. Harry just wanted to do anything that involved being normal and parts of Louis hurt for that realization. Harry was so carefree and so much like he tended to be in the quiet of Louis’ studio and it was impressive to see him like this out there in the world. He tended to think there were a lot of people who chastised this side of him and Louis wanted to have a long talk with each and every one of them until they understood just how much the world needed to see Harry for what he really was. He was good and pure. Louis didn’t deserve to be the one who got to see that, but dammit he would cherish it for the gift it was. He wasn’t about to forget just how lucky he was to be the person who brought this side of Harry out.

Louis tugged Harry’s wrist until they were standing in front of some kind of monument for a guy named Dale Earnhardt. Harry wasn’t even looking at the walls of plaques anymore, he was just starting at Louis. Louis heart did an impossible sort of somersault in his chest.

“When I was really little,” Harry started, “my dad used to make my sister, Gemma and I watch Formula One with him. I never really got into it, but I remember Gems was hellbent on being a race car driver. She used to have her room covered in posters and everything. She’d deny it to her death now because she says its not a real job, but I think she’d be kind of jealous we’re here.”

Every day it was something new. Every day Harry seemed to open up a new part to Louis. He hadn’t really talked much about his own family, despite having asked the middle name and birth date of each of Louis’ sisters. Maybe there was some kind of pain there that he wasn’t fully ready to tap in to, so Louis avoided prodding.

“I miss her,” Harry’s mouth tilted unhappily as he said the words.

Instinctively, Louis hand darted out to capture Harry’s. He squeezed tightly, “I know that feeling.”

“She’s my only sibling, you know? And I just feel like I’m constantly lying to her. Like I’m constantly avoiding her.” Louis didn’t need to ask him to elaborate, he knew Harry would get there on his own, his slow words filling the stark silence of the giant room, “it’s just that she knows me too much. Mum, too. They both know me so well and I can’t hide anything from them so sometimes its just easier to keep my distance. How horrible is that?”

“You’re talking to a man who has consistently disappointed his mum and sisters for the better part of a decade. I don’t think I can really answer that question.”

Harry sighed, squeezing tighter onto Louis’ hand, “it’s like…sometimes I wish I could just go back to being a kid. It was so easy then, we were so close then. I miss everything about being home. Home just tends to feel so far away no matter where I am in the world, I feel like I’m a million miles from them, from who I used to be.”

Louis leaned his head onto Harry’s shoulder, staring into the eyes of the photograph of whoever this Dale guy was. This whole conversation was getting into a part of Louis that he’d been refusing to acknowledge for years. It was chipping away at it and he couldn’t help up crack open a bit, “I miss that too,” he admitted. “I miss my family, I miss my home, I miss England,” he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat and the part of himself that was not screaming to him not to say his next thought. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, burrowing his face into Harry’s neck (Christ, when did he become this needy?). “You remind me of home.”

 

…

 

Louis woke up to the most stark realization. He rolled over and saw a blanket of soft, chocolate curls draped across the pillow next to him. Harry’s face was buried in the pillow and his breathing was slow and steady, his left hand still tightly gripping Louis’ hand. The last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep was the soft chuckles falling from Harry’s lips as Louis teased him relentlessly for not being able to name even one famous footballer that wasn’t Beckham. Christ Louis hadn’t even set foot in the country in nearly two years, yet somehow he’d never lost touch with his favourite teams.

The conversation, however, wasn’t the thing that struck him as odd. It was that it was the first night since all of this had started that they hadn’t even bothered to get each other off. Something warm and terrifying was settling into Louis’ stomach. If he had any sense of self preservation, he wouldn’t let this stand. He wouldn’t just let this trip go down in his memories as one of the best, romantic, sexless nights of his life. If he was smart, he’d fix it. He’d kiss Harry’s neck, watch as the goosebumps rose and turn him over slowly, climbing on top of him until he was straddling Harry’s hips. It wouldn’t be hard. Harry would be responsive. There wasn’t a question.

But instead of the throbbing lust Louis usually felt dripping into his belly, rushing down to his groin, he felt something lighter. Something that had him disengaging his hand from Harry’s so he could slowly brush unruly curls from Harry’s sleeping face. Louis felt his insides smile.

And, oh fuck? Did he just think that? Did he genuinely believe that his insides were smiling as he brushed arrant curls from a sleeping boy's face?

Louis should change this. He should spin this whole thing into his favour, his control. He should keep reminding himself that he was the one who lost. Harry could walk away with everything he had before, but Louis couldn’t. Not if he let this whole thing continue it’s tailspin.

Despite all the logic in the world, Louis leaned in to place a soft kiss on one of Harry’s fluttering eyelids and the air felt heavier somehow. Something was different and only the rational parts of Louis screamed at him to recognize what was happening, but the rest of him was gone. He was lost in it as his fingers raked softly through the curls at Harry’s temple, the ones he knew turned into full on corkscrews when his body was coated in sweat. Without thought, he leaned back in, kissing his temple, his nose, the corner of his mouth. He watched as Harry’s eyelids fluttered again, placing another quick kiss on his eyelid.

“Mmm,” Harry mumbled, turning onto his side, his lips curving up in the corners.

Louis' heart threw itself violently at his ribcage as he watched Harry’s eyes open, smile still on his lips. Louis’ own face broke into a grin as something warm settled into the place he was pretty sure he was supposed to have lungs. He couldn’t breathe, though. Instead he focused on the heat that Harry’s smile was sparking in his chest.

“Lou,” Harry mumbled, blinking back into wakefulness.

Louis’ hand settled onto Harry’s jaw and he leaned in to place soft kisses across Harry’s cheeks. The giggle that bubbled from Harry’s lips should have been a red flag. It should have made Louis realize he was in way over his fucking head, but instead it made the heat intensify until Louis was pretty sure his heart had grown wings, and maybe claws as it tried to expel itself from its place inside of Louis. He leaned in and kissed Harry. He kissed him without the desperate heat that had been there every single other time they’d kissed. There was a part of Louis that wanted very badly to memorize exactly how their lips fit together. That part was growing stronger and stronger as he felt Harry kiss him back, slow and soft. Their tongues tangled together slowly in a practiced sort of way. It was like they’d always kissed like this—pressing promises together. There was no fire, no heat. There was no promise of things going any further. It felt like there had always been this. It felt like Harry had always been this extension of him.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Louis wasn’t supposed to have real feelings.

But that’s what this was. He was no fool. He knew this wasn’t supposed to be happening. He shouldn’t be kissing Harry like he wanted to promise him the world. He wasn’t supposed to be jumping on planes based on Harry’s whims. He wasn’t supposed to be in any of this mess.

He pulled back and watched as Harry smiled at him. He brushed Harry’s hair off of his neck before placing his hand back onto Harry’s jaw. He couldn’t help it. He was smiling. He was smiling and his dick wasn’t even hard and he and Harry were clearly in way over their heads.

If only Harry seemed to cared in the slightest.

Instead he grinned at Louis, “I had the best dream, Lou,” he mused, “we were driving Nascar.”

Louis felt his resolve melt for maybe the millionth time since this slow motion car crash started, “I bet I won.”

Harry’s laugh restored the breath in his lungs. Harry shook his head slowly, “nope you were in the passenger seat beside me.”

“Oi!” Said louis, laughing lightly, “I’m no passenger. For the record I’d kick your arse, Styles.”

Harry smiled, wriggling closer to Louis so he could nuzzle his cheek. Louis wished with every rational part of himself that he didn’t feel like his insides were glowing, but he was well and truly fucked.

“I know,” giggled Harry before he placed a soft kiss on Louis’ lips.

Louis needed a break. He needed to step back for 10 seconds and evaluate what the fuck was happening to him.

“Hey,” said Louis, placing another quick kiss on Harry’s cheek before sitting upright, “I’m gonna go get us some breakfast. I’ll be right back.”

Harry smiled up at him, nodding his head slowly and the thing was that Louis could see it. He could see the feelings reflecting in Harry’s eyes. He saw the trust there in the way he looked at louis. If Louis was fucked, Harry might very well be fucked, too because there was no way Louis was making this up.

 

Louis had barely made it 6 steps toward the elevator before he was pressing his phone to his ear. He waited for it to ring, stopping to lean against the wall in the hallway. There was a tidal wave of emotion swirling around inside of him and he feared he might fall under if he didn’t reach for someone. He needed to be grounded firmly in reality, to be reminded of who he was before all of this. Halfway through the third ring the voice Louis didn’t realize he’d been dying to hear came across the line.

“Louis, baby, is everything okay?”

A calm settled into him as he heard her voice. The world outside of Harry still existed as it always had and there was a sort of comfort for that realization.

“Hi mum,” he responded.

“Jesus, Louis, you scared me. What time is it there? It must be 4:30 in the morning.”

Louis let out the breath he’d been holding. It was 7:30 in the morning in Carolina, but his mum didn’t know he was there. To her he was calling her up out of he blue in the middle of the night.

“7:30,” he said, “it’s 7:30 here. I’m in North Carolina. It’s a long story. I just wanted to talk, can we talk?”

“Of course baby. Why are you in North Carolina? Is it a work thing?”

Louis bit his lip, his heart racing in his chest, “I—yeah I guess. Kind of. Like I said, long story. How are you? How are the girls?”

If his mother sensed the strange edge to his voice, she wasn’t commenting. He couldn’t thank her enough for that.

“The girls are good. Lottie and Fizzy are at work and the twins are at school.” She was quiet for a moment and Louis focused on her breathing, still leaning against the wall next to the elevator. Part of him wanted desperately to spill the whole story on her so she could tell him what he should do. The other parts of him were ashamed. He didn’t want to disappoint her. What he and Harry had went against every moral she’d instilled in him since childhood. He didn’t want to disappoint her. She was his biggest fan, her pride always glowing in the praise she gave him and he didn’t want to take that away. He wanted her to be proud of him.

“How come you called, love?” Her voice was soft, but certain. He’d given himself away and she knew something was up.

He swallowed hard, “I just—I missed your voice. I miss you. I just wanted to talk.”

“Something’s wrong,” her tone was firm this time. She knew. His mother was hands down his best friend. He couldn’t hide anything from her and he’d never wanted to. This was the first time he’d actually done something he didn’t think she could help him fix. He wasn’t supposed to have even started this thing with Harry but for some reason the harder part seemed like it was going to be ending it. How was he going to survive it when he couldn’t even reach for the one person he reached for above all?

“What’s up, baby? What’s bothering you. Why are you on the other side of the country calling me first thing in the morning?”

He cleared his throat. She’d figure most of it out without him saying a word. That’s just how she worked. She’d guess the whole thing and he’d be completely unable to lie to preserve her image of him. He knew how this went.

“I, uh, you know in the movies how people just go to the airport and ask for a ticket on the next plane? Yeah. That’s why I’m in North Carolina.”

“Who are you with?” The question came easily and it made sense that she’d go there. It was just the logical next step.

“Um,” was all Louis managed before he heard his mother’s voice again.

“You met someone.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t open ended. Louis knew he couldn’t lie his way out of this one and did he really want to? If there were two people in the world who he just knew would get along famously it was his mother and Harry. He didn’t want to keep Harry from her. He wanted there to be someone out there in the world who knew.

“Er—something like that.”

“That’s great baby,” he could hear the smile in her voice, the joy sparkling in her words. This was exactly what she’d been gunning for for years. She wanted Louis to settle down (back in England) and start his own family. His career exhausted her more than it ever had him.

“Tell me about him?”

Louis scrubbed his hand across his tired face. Where did he start with a request like that? He wanted to pour out all the good parts. He wanted to tell her about the sound of his laughter. About the way he was able to craft songs out of his his own turmoil while simultaneously bringing nothing but joy to every person he came into contact with. He wanted to tell her about how he giggled in he morning, sharing stories about his most mundane dreams and how he stole the very breath from Louis’ lungs every time he smiled like Louis had given him the world.

But he couldn’t.

“I had that rule, right?” Louis started. His mother knew the rule. He wouldn’t date someone in the industry. He wouldn’t sleep with someone he was supposed to work with. He knew better. He’d always known better. When did he stop knowing better? 

“Well I kind of fucked it up. I wasn’t, like, really looking for anything, you know? I didn’t expect it to happen and it just kind of caught me off guard. I think I’m making a big mistake and the worst part is that it doesn’t feel like a mistake.”

His mum’s voice was soft this time, “usually, boo, when something doesn’t feel like a mistake you’re over thinking it. You have good intuition. Who cares what he does for a living? Maybe that’s what you need. Someone who understands how your schedule works. Someone who won’t try to make you pick.”

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose, “it’s not—it isn’t his job mum. I mean, I guess that’s part of it, but that doesn’t really matter, you’re right. It’s more than that.”

“Oh. Is he not out? Is that going to be a problem like with the papers are all?”

Louis sighed, “um, no. That’s not—it’s worse. It’s so much worse and you’re going to hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” she reminded him gently.

Louis breathed out slowly, pressing his forehead against the wall. He felt nauseous as he let the words fall from his lips, “he’s married. He’s famous and he’s married and there’s no way this is going to end well and I can’t even stop myself. I have literally no control here, mum. I know it’s wrong. Everyone is going to get so hurt and I can’t fucking stop myself. What does that say about me as a person? I thought I was better than this. I’m not even going to get what I want.”

The words were hanging in the air. For the first time since this whole thing began, Louis knew what he wanted. He wanted Harry. He wanted him proper, for them to really be something and it took this talk with his mum to even admit it to himself. It was so much more than sex—than an affair. He felt violently ill as the realizations poured over him.

“So you know what you want?” His mum's voice was quiet and tentative like she knew she was treading close to the edge.

Louis masterfully avoided the question, “It’s only been eight days.”

“So that’s all it took. 10 years of you making any excuse in the book not to date someone and all it took was eight days with the right person to prove that was all rubbish.”

Jesus. He and his mother were too much alike. How dare she ruin the somber feeling of the moment with her ‘I’m right’ logic?

“You’re not even helping,” he all but whined, forehead still pressed against the cool wall.

“Baby, I’ve known you for 30 years. I know who you are. I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you’re caught up in a bad situation but that doesn’t make you a bad person. Where does he stand? Is he going to pick you?”

Louis felt like there was a vice around his lungs. He knew what it _felt_ like. He knew how he thought Harry felt, but that didn’t matter, did it? It was just his view—his opinion. He’d never asked Harry. There was a fairly decent chance that Harry wasn’t going to pick him. There was a pretty freaking large chance, actually and he had been so wrapped up in trying to avoid admitting his affection that he hadn’t even planned to face this question.

Maybe they had something—that was undeniable—but maybe that wasn’t going to be enough for Harry to pick him. There were a million reasons that Harry might back away—a million reasons why he might take his songs and the light he’d brought into Louis’ life and run right back to the life he’d had before Las Vegas.

Fuck.

Louis hadn’t considered how much that was going to hurt. He’d been so busy trying to convince himself that he wasn’t invested that he’d ignored a huge question.

Was Harry going to pick him? Could Louis even ask that of him?

“I don’t know,” Louis said in a rushed exhale, “I don’t know, mum,” tears burned behind his eyelids, but he refused to get swept away in emotion when his mother was listening. The last thing he wanted to do was worry her even further.

“Hey,” his mum’s voice was softer now, he lifted his forehead from the wall, rubbing his eyes, lest a tear accidentally slip out the corner. “I think you need to step back and think about what you want. I think that you need to try being selfish. I know you thought you knew what you wanted, but life isn’t always that easy. Sometimes all it takes is one person to put things into perspective. Don’t think so little of yourself that you forget that you’ve probably affected him too. You’ve probably thrown just as large of a wrench into his plans as he has yours. Maybe you’d be surprised to find that even though there’s a whole lot of rubbish going on around you, that you might actually be on the same page. Don’t be afraid to ask for what you want. I’m not going to assume that I know the type of person he is, but I think if he was a bad guy, if he was the kind of guy who did this kind of thing a lot that you wouldn’t be having such a hard time with this. Sometimes good people do bad things—I know first had what it’s like to be locked in a marriage that isn’t based on mutual love and respect. Maybe you need to ask more questions—but I trust you. I trust that you wouldn’t be feeling this way if he wasn’t a decent guy.”

 

…

 

Louis dropped his duffle bag on the floor the second that Harry pushed open the door to his hotel room. Louis made a beeline for the bed, flopping directly onto it, his face in the pillows. It didn’t smell like Harry, not like the one that was currently sitting on the left side of the bed in his studio. That was a problem for later, though. Now, Louis just wanted to nap. He’d been awake for one million hours and the plane ride back to Vegas had been exhausting. He was still seeing flashes of light behind his eyelids.

It had all started innocently enough. They’d arrived in the Charlotte airport when the young girl behind the ticket counter had looked at Harry with stars in her eyes, grinning helplessly at him. Louis knew those stupid heart shaped sunglasses weren’t going to fool anyone who cared to look close enough.

“You’re Harry Styles!” She’d squeaked as Louis was entering his pin into the debit machine. Before Harry could do something stupid (like tell the truth) Louis had jumped to his rescue.

Louis laughed his most realistic fake laugh, “haha,” he’d started, “he gets that a lot,” he turned to Harry who was saying a quiet ‘thank-you’ from behind those ridiculous sunglasses. “It’s the accent, I reckon. And yet, no one ever confuses me for Beckham. Shameful, really. I’d totally marry a Spice Girl if she’d have me.”

Louis’ distraction had proven completely ineffective the second that Harry had been forced to hand over his passport to the girl. Her eyes had lit up like a kid on Christmas and that was really the thing that started the whole snowball. Harry held up his index finger to his lips, silencing her reaction. He’d signed the back of her name badge and they’d been on their way to the plane with no more bumps in the road.

That was until they had touched down in Vegas and people swarmed the gate the second Harry had touched his foot inside the airport. People tugged at his clothes, shoved phones in his face and screamed all kinds of things at him. The girl in Charlotte mustn’t have been able to keep her mouth shut because Louis was pretty certain that every pap on that side of the country was now shoving cameras in Harry’s face and snapping picture after picture of Louis walking next to him.

Airport security had ushered them into a quiet room, locking the doors behind them. Harry looked devastated as the freedom he’d felt for the past 24 hours slipped away from him. He had one quick hushed phone call with his security team and within the hour, Louis was walking behind Harry while three guys he’d never seen before whisked them through the crowd of girls and cameras.

And there it was. There was his first honest glimpse into Harry’s life.

How dare he even assume for a second that Harry had the means to hide any part of himself? He couldn’t even walk through an airport without causing a scene.

This whole thing was a disaster.

And Louis was exhausted.

He felt the bed dip on his left side. Part of him wanted to lift his head and give Harry a meek smile so he could know that Louis didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, but he was too tired. Too exhausted from the chaos that had commanded the better part of his day.

“I’m sorry Lou,” Harry’s hand found Louis’ hair and hesitantly sat there.

“Not your fault,” Louis spoke into the pillow. And it wasn’t his fault. Not really. It was that girl at that airport, but Louis was feeling all kinds of ways in that moment and he couldn’t quite bring himself to speak.

“It kind of was,” Harry’s voice was heavy, a darkness echoing there, “you told me the glasses were dumb. I should have listened.”

Louis rolled over then, because, no. He couldn’t let Harry think the wrong thing, “first of all, I never said the glasses were dumb. I told you it was the worst disguise ever—because it was. Second, it wasn’t your fault. It’s never your fault that people think they’re entitled to every piece of your privacy just because you sang a couple of songs people liked. Please don’t think I’m upset with you. I’m just upset with the whole thing.”

He rolled onto his back and pressed Harry’s palm against his beating heart. “It’s a lot. You’re a lot. I’m having a hard enough time dealing with everything when there aren’t 40 people trying to shove cameras in our faces. It’s a side of things I never wanted to see first-hand, but that’s not your fault, Styles, okay? I just need a second to recharge. Don’t worry about me.”

Harry placed a kiss on his forehead, “I love the way you talk,” mused Harry, placing a second kiss to the tip of Louis’ nose. The old parts of Louis, the ones that knew him before Harry had happened, cringed at how fucking cute Harry was—and cringed twice as hard at how much Louis craved this sort of attention. “Like when you said you’d marry a Spice Girl,” he giggled in the way Louis loved and somehow they were back to themselves. “Which one would you marry?”

“Sporty, obviously. I mean is that even a question? We have the same wardrobe.”

Harry laughed then, stopping only when he heard his phone scream to life on the end table. Louis held Harry’s hand in place over his heart as he turned to grab his phone.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice was low, like he was trying to be quiet. Louis didn’t have to think very hard about who was on the other side of the phone call. “What?” Harry’s voice raised an octave, like he was slightly panicked about something. He slid his hand away from Louis’ chest and a darkness sunk into Louis, “right now? In Vegas? I thought you were supposed to be in LA?” Harry’s voice was very panicked now and Louis felt the walls around them closing in. He sat up slowly as Harry finished the call, “yeah, I’ll call down and give them your name.”

Harry’s phone fell to the bed then, ominous as it sat between them. Nine days. That’s all it had been. Nine days and Louis could feel every bit of pain he was going to be in when Harry left nibbling at the base of his spine.

“Caitlin’s downstairs,” Harry’s voice had no emotion in it as he stared straight ahead at the door to his room. “She came to surprise me."

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Fear pooled in the pit of Louis’ stomach and he was disgusted. He was horrified that this is what his life had come to. He was sitting here in a hotel room in Vegas next to a married man who’s wife was about to waltz in and figure out the whole thing.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Louis needed to run. He needed to run 10 million miles away from this whole thing.

He moved to get up, but without even breaking his staring contest with the door, Harry’s hand reached out and gripped on to his wrist.

“Stay,” he begged, fear edging into his own voice and just fuck everything. Fuck every last thing on this earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Such a pretty face on a pretty neck...


	4. Kiwi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Again, sorry for how slow this came. I love you all for sticking with me :)

_She worked her way through a cheap pack of cigarettes_

_Hard liquor mixed with a bit of intellect_

_And all the boys they were saying they were into it_

_Such a pretty face on a pretty neck_

 

They were so fucked. They were so fucking fucked and Louis had no choice but to jump from the bed the second Harry rang the front desk to let his _wife_ up to his room. Louis made a beeline straight for the duffle bag he had left in the doorway. All he could think about was how fucking guilty he looked. Everything about this situation screamed guilt. It was a heavy weight in Louis’ chest as he looked around him and remembered the past nine days.

He’d had Harry in just about every way he could think of. Right there in this very room. He’d stood there, in that very doorway, four days ago, his hair still dripping wet from his shower, just staring at Harry’s sleeping body. He’d been overwhelmed with more emotion than he was willing to admit. Since his talk with his mother, though? Since then the only steady thing thrumming in his mind was that emotion. He was very aware of it now. It had made its presence known and Louis couldn’t step away from it now.

In that first moment on that deserted patio in the back of a tiny dive bar? In that moment it had been easy to convince himself that emotion had no place there. It had been easy to convince himself that there was nothing more than a physical need between he and Harry. And then, somehow, without any sort of permission that physical need has blossomed. And then it had been easy to convince himself that this was something else entirely. It had been easy to get lost in Harry and forget that what they were doing came with a specific name: affair. It had been so easy to forget that because the rest of the world hadn’t existed. It had just been he and Harry and Caitlin and the whisper of her presence felt like nothing. It felt like yet another impossibility. There was no real threat hovering there because Louis had been lost in a delusion.

Now though? Now he was wide a-fucking-wake and this whole thing was about to explode. He wanted to preserve himself—to preserve Harry. He wanted more than anything else in the world to just grab onto Harry’s hand and pull him down the back staircase and hide him in his studio until the world gave up looking for him.

He wanted Harry. He wanted him all to himself and it wasn’t possible and he could feel pieces of himself breaking off inside of him.

That wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He’d fought so hard to convince himself and Harry that he wasn’t going to fall. That he wasn’t going to fall into any of it because he _knew. He fucking knew_ how it ended.

And yet, here he was, falling to pieces with every bit of guilt he felt etched into his features. And Louis didn’t break. He didn’t cry. He wasn’t that person. He didn’t break for anyone that wasn’t his mum or sisters—so why did it feel like pieces of him were falling all over the floor as he retreaded with his tail between his legs? Why did it feel so much worse than all those other times he’d broken?

He held his bag close to his chest, making his way to the door just as Harry hung up the hotel phone. Before Louis’ hand even had a chance to touch the doorknob Harry was throwing his whole body against the door. He looked at Louis with eyes that held at least twice as much panic as Louis was feeling.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Sympathy filled up Louis’ chest cavity. Yeah. Louis was doing something wrong. Something incredibly wrong to a person that he hadn’t even met.

But Harry had met her. He’d married her and Harry was a lot of things, but he was not a bad person. Louis was certain of this fact. There was no way in the world that Harry could possibly have chosen a woman who was the devil incarnate. There was no possible way that she could deserve any of this and that fact summed up the look on Harry’s face.

_If I would have met you three years ago, Louis, I wouldn’t be married today._

The words rang in his head. Harry was mixed up in something far worse than what Louis was. No matter what decision he made someone was going to be unhappy.

“Please, Lou,” he begged, back pressed against the door.

“I can’t stay Harry.”

“You have to,” Harry’s voice attempted to be firm but Louis sensed the fear he was feeling, “I can’t let you leave like this. We need to talk. We need to actually talk about us,” Harry’s back was still pressed against the door and part of Louis still wanted so badly to escape but there was a bigger part of him that knew it was impossible to say no to Harry.

“We have to stop pretending,” Harry’s voice rushed back in, “you have to stop pretending I’m not calling her. We have to stop pretending and actually talk about things, Louis. We have to talk about us, okay? Just, please stay. It’s going to be fine, I promise. And then we can talk. Me and you.”

Defeat fell into Louis’ chest, “why do you do this to me?” He asked quietly.

“Lou, I’m sorry.”

Louis’ heart hammered in his chest, time was running out. She was going to be walking through the very door that Harry was blocking him from exiting any second and what was he going to say? Was he going to smile politely and pretend he hadn’t been shagging her husband? Worse though, how was he going to hide the rest of it? How would she not see how he felt? There was no way he was a good enough actor for this shit.

“What am I supposed to say?” Louis sounded like he was whining, he hated himself even more for showing weakness when it was the last thing Harry needed, “I don’t want to meet her, Harry, please.”

Tick. Tick. Tick.

His escape time was evaporating and Harry wasn’t moving away from the door.

“It looks bad, Harry. It looks really bad. Don’t make me stay.”

Three knocks made Louis crawl in his skin.

He’d lost his shot. There was no longer a chance to run and _fuck_ this was happening. Why couldn’t he have just said no to Harry? Why had he gotten so lost in Harry’s eyes and forgotten to protect himself.

Harry reached out and touched his wrist and Louis eyes shot up to Harry’s face. Harry forced a smile. “It’s going to be fine, Louis,” he whispered, reaching out and taking the duffle bag from Louis and tossing it onto the floor, like it didn’t mean anything. Like it wasn’t evidence. Harry seemed completely certain that he didn’t need to make a single effort to hide anything. Louis was horrified.

“Promise,” Harry said kissing Louis on the cheek and turning to take the doorknob in his hand. Louis darted into the room, sitting on the first available chair as he heard the door open.

He didn’t know what he expected, but maybe the first thing he was expecting wasn’t Caitlin laughing brightly up at Harry.

“You’re wearing those glasses you giant goober.”

Harry laughed, too, and Louis wasn’t sure if that made everything better or worse. Would it be easier if Harry couldn’t stand her? If she was mean spirited instead of teasing him just as fondly as Louis had?

Jealousy was irrational. Louis started a chant in his head to remind himself of that.

“Louis’ here,” were the first words out of Harry’s mouth. Jesus fucking Christ.

Finally, Louis allowed himself to turn around and take in the woman standing in the doorway. She had dark hair, darker than his, and it fell past her collarbones. Her skin was toasted caramel, her smile bright and white. She was wearing a sundress and it took Louis only a second to figure out why she’d picked Harry. The print of her dress was flamingos. Obnoxious, ridiculous flamingos dancing all around pineapples.

He couldn’t even hate her because she was already hideously endearing.

She walked confidently into the room, not even giving a second glance to the duffle bag that was clearly not her husband’s. She stopped in front of Louis who finally took the initiative to stand up from his chair.

“Louis,” she said brightly with an accent that told him she’d grown up in London, “my father is a huge fan. So glad to meet you.”

Damn her. Damn her sincerity.

“Likewise,” his voice sounded as though there was a literal frog in this throat. He was guilty. So fucking guilty and if they continued to exchange words Louis was about 99% certain she’d know he’d been sleeping with Harry. He felt like it was written all over him.

Okay, so Louis didn’t know what he’d been expecting. He didn’t know if he’d been expecting that this moment would never come. It hadn’t been long enough. He and Harry hadn’t figured out anything yet. It was way too soon for all of this to happen. It was too soon for Harry to ask this of him. Louis had no idea where either of them stood, but this lady, this _girl_ , she wasn’t bad and even though Louis hadn’t bothered to think about expectations, he certainly hadn’t been expecting her. He wasn’t expecting the warmth that radiated from her deep brown eyes and he wasn’t expecting that there was more than one person out there with an affinity for flamingos.

If Louis was being honest with himself, though, he also hadn’t been expecting Harry. He hadn’t imagined that someone could just walk into his life and change his mind in less than a week. The thing was, before this whole thing started Louis knew what he wanted. He wanted to be successful in his career. To make his mum and the girls proud, to be able to give them a good life. He had wanted nothing that didn’t involve his career. He hadn’t even considered that someone might change his mind. His mother had made the suggestion a million times and it wasn’t that he didn’t listen, it was just that he couldn’t imagine that there could be someone out there that make him want to sacrifice any of his success.

And now, there he was, standing across the room, baby pink v-neck hanging loosely around the collarbones that Louis knew he liked to explore with his teeth. There he was, fucking heart shaped sunglasses holding back soft chocolate curls, day-old stubble just barely dusting bits of his baby face. There he was, 10 feet away with probably one of the sweetest girls in the entire world standing between them and fuck.

Louis didn’t want to share.

He wouldn’t have asked for any of this. It wasn’t fair because Louis never treaded the line of morality. Not like this, anyway. He never would have considered himself a bad person, but what he was doing to Caitlin? That was grounds for some serious self reflection.

“So lets have it then,” Caitlin’s voice broke through his guilty haze, “let’s hear one of these songs that are gonna win our boy a Grammy.”

Our boy.

_Our boy._

Did she know? Did she fucking know all of it? Where had that come from? There was a ball of salt in Louis stomach but something inside of him pushed him forward as he heard Harry stumble over a concerned “uh-hum”.

“Now, now,” said Louis, “don’t think you get a sneak peak just because you’ve got an in with the talent.”

Sometimes Louis was too sarcastic for his own good. Sometimes he chafed against people in a way they weren’t fond of. He was aware of this fact and he’d accepted it. He knew who he was.

Caitlin, however, was clearly not one of those people. Her laughter didn’t ‘trickle’ from her mouth like Louis might have expected from a tiny girl barely over five feet. No. It boomed. It boomed bright and loud and filled up every corner of the room and Louis had no choice but to respond. He laughed, too, because Caitlin’s laughter was very much the textbook definition of infectious. Harry was laughing now, too.

Jesus. Imagine a tiny little thing like her commanding an entire room just by laughing at a truly awful blip of sarcasm from Louis far too sharp mouth.

There was no way Louis could ever sleep at night again.

“Alright then,” she said, a smile still set in place, “I suppose I’m to assume you’ve been largely unsuccessful. What a shame that the great Louis Tomlinson seems to have run out of songs.”

Well look the fuck at that. Her sarcasm was giving him a run for his money.

“Excuse you,” Louis didn’t miss the flash of fear in Harry’s eyes as Louis dove in to engage in the game of sarcasm. Harry didn’t have a glue how this type of banter went, bless him and his pure heart. Louis felt his muscles relax and without thinking he sent a sly wink Harry’s way, “but the great Louis Tomlinson hasn’t run out of anything, thanks very much. He just happens to prefer for the average listener to wait until the songs are finished and polished. You’ll hear them, eventually, maybe on the radio or sommat.”

Caitlin pursed her lips, her smile still curving up at the edges. She narrowed her eyes, “lucky for Louis Tomlinson, I’m not the average listener. I’m thinking dinner, maybe a few drinks and then you can take me back to the studio and prove to me the song well hasn’t run dry.”

 

...

 

Harry slid into the booth, Caitlin sliding in next to him. Louis plopped himself into the centre of the seat across from them. Harry breathed deep, trying to keep his focus on Caitlin and not on the shit-storm he saw in Louis’ eyes. Louis didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be a million miles from there and maybe Harry was the most selfish person in the world, but he couldn’t let him leave. He couldn’t risk Louis going home and rethinking this whole thing.

Harry might have been pretty confident that Louis felt more than he’d let himself admit, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t run. He’d be right to run, though, wouldn’t he? What could Harry possibly say to him to make him stay? There was nothing in the world that Harry wouldn’t do to prove to Louis that this was worth it. That they were worth more than being a hushed secret in an empty second-rate museum. He wanted to scream from the rooftops how amazing Louis was. He wanted to call up his dad— _his dad of all people in the fucking world_ —and just sit down over a pint or two and brag. Finally, for the first time in his adult life he felt like he had an idea about how his future was supposed to look.

Except there was one pretty major problem with that whole train of thought.

“What are you having to drink, goob?”

Caitlin’s voice broke his train of thought. He shook his head, meeting Louis’ gaze for a split second before turning to Caitlin.

He opened his mouth to respond, mouth forming the ‘m’ before she smiled and cut in, turning to the server.

“Martini—extra dry,” she answered, sending a friendly wink Harry’s way.

She had no idea. She had absolutely no clue just what kind of person Harry was and before she’d been sitting right there beside him, he might of been glad of that fact. He might have used it to his advantage and cornered Louis in the loo and kicked his foot coyly against Louis’ under the table while the three of them chatted away.

But, instead, he felt like shit. He felt like the very worst kind of person because she _trusted_ him. She trusted him so completely that she didn’t pick up on a single bit of the tension in the air. She was just being herself. Her lovely, unapologetically charming self. He could see it burning in the blue eyes across the table. Louis felt it, too. The shame of doing something wrong to someone so oblivious.

Harry’s guts rolled.

“And for the lady?” The server asked.

Harry caught Caitlin’s eye just as she was about to speak, “scotch,” they said the word in unison. “On the rocks,” Harry added, laughing at just the prospect of her laughter.

Caitlin grinned, “make it a double.”

Louis raised his eyebrows, meeting Caitlin’s eye, “so it’s that kind of night.”

Caitlin winked, she fucking winked at Louis and every part of Harry was falling apart, “it’s always that kind of night, Louis Tomlinson. It’s Vegas.”

Louis closed his drink menu, turning to the server, “I’ll have the same as her.”

 

…

 

Harry stared at the few remnants of pastrami and cracker crumbs on the plate in the centre of the table. Somehow he’d been forced to sit at that restaurant between his wife and the man he was shagging for…roughly 7 martinis. That was about 5 martinis more than he’d bargained for. They were sitting on the patio now, Louis and Caitlin racing each other to the bottom of a bottle of 25 year old scotch and smoking up a literal cloud around their table.

Louis reached out across the table after he drained the last sip of his most recent glass of scotch. He grabbed Caitlin’s pack of smokes, pulling one out while she eyed him. He flicked his lighter to life and inhaled deeply, pulling a face as he exhaled the smoke.

“You know for someone with such excellent taste in scotch, you really have horrible taste in cigarettes.”

“I’d expect you to say something like that, being a proper American and all.”

“Oi, a proper American I am not. At least I still have the good sense to know which kind of fags are absolute trash.”

Caitlin scoffed, “and here’s where you’re wrong. Here’s why I know just how American you are,” she put a fresh smoke between her own lips as she continued to banter with Louis, “you’ve been here so long that you fail to recognize that when it comes to American cigarettes, the cheap and the expensive ones are all rubbish. I’m just saving myself some money, because I hate them all, superior British palette and all—I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

 

It had been like this since the second they’d ordered their first drink. Harry had scarcely gotten a word in all night. He wondered, though, if he had been able to say something, if the opportunity ever arose, what would he say? What could he possibly say with this limited English language that could ever be enough? How could he address Caitlin, how could he ever deserve to say a word to her after what he’d done? Alternately, how could he ever address Louis without the bottom falling out of the whole thing? The only thing he could think of was fondness for the man sitting across from him. It was horrible. It was a horrible rotting sensation deep inside of him and how was he ever supposed to carry on like this? How was he ever supposed to speak again without vomiting guilt all over the floor? How was he ever supposed to face the world when everyone would know? They would all see it and they would hear it. Every person on the planet would know just how he felt about Louis.

The emotion was consuming. It was overwhelming and Harry knew this was it. This was that feeling he’d heard in every song that had ever moved him in his life. This was the feeling that people wrote novels about. This was the feeling that poets had inked on page after page for centuries and he had it. It was right there, careening against his ribcage and it was beautiful. It was incredible and it demanded all of Harry’s attention. It demanded to be noticed—but it wasn’t pure. It was tainted by the disgust he felt boiling in his gut.

“Hey,” it took Harry a second to realize that Caitlin was bidding for his attention. He tore his gaze away from his now empty martini glass and met her eyes.

“You okay, goob?” She squeezed his hand quickly to punctuate how much she cared.

Fuck.

Could she feel Louis on him? Was that even possible? Was the rest of the world able to see it, the way his skin sang for Louis?

Harry scrubbed his hand across his face, pulling his fringe out of his eyes. There was a flash of blue as he caught Louis’ eyes before turning back to Caitlin, “tired. Still jet lagged I guess.”

She rubbed his shoulder gently, “sorry, gooby, guess I got a bit caught up trying to drink Louis Tomlinson under the table.”

Harry really wished his heart didn’t pick up it’s pace when he heard Louis’ laugh. Could Caitlin feel that?

“Sorry, love, I didn’t realize you were attempting the impossible. Better slow down on your drinks, I didn’t sign up for carrying you back to the hotel.”

Caitlin laughed, fingers still lingering on Harry’s guilt laden shoulder, “don’t sound so confident, grammy boy, you might be surprised at what I’m capable of, right goob?”

Harry’s eyes jumped to Louis’ then, the room was swirling. Caitlin could drink Harry under the table any day of the week, and nights like this? When he tried to keep pace by downing 7 martinis in a few hours, that’s when he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“’S true,” he mumbled, surprised by how much he was slurring.

Fuck. Thank fucking fuck. He was drunk. He was sloppy drunk and that was so much easier, wasn’t it? It was so much simpler to just be a drunken mess because then she couldn’t tell. She couldn’t possibly know if he was acting strange or not because his head was too heavy. He didn’t want to keep it up right anymore.

The room swayed, but he kept his focus on Louis.

“What kind of nickname is ‘goob’ anyway?” Louis asked, pulling his gaze from Harry’s and stealing Harry’s centre of gravity.

“Oh. It’s just what I call him. No other stupid pet names suited him—he’s definitely not a baby. He’s just a big goober, isn’t he? There really isn’t anyone out there in the world sweeter than our Harry,” she pinched Harry’s cheek for emphasis.

Something flashed in Louis’ eyes when he turned to look at Harry again. Harry heard an echo of Louis’ rough voice, calling out a soft ‘baby’ as Harry’s mouth had worked him until he came down the back of Harry’s throat.

This was so wrong. This whole thing was so fucking wrong.

Harry reached out then, pushing back his martini glass and laying his head on the table and he watched the world spin behind his eyelids. He was too drunk. Too drunk for any of this and too drunk for his own good and the last time he’d traipsed anywhere close to being this far gone he’d cornered Louis on a different patio and set this whole landslide into motion.

There was a buzzing in his ears, voices of distant people chattering, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to listen to any of it. He didn’t want to listen as Louis and Caitlin discussed the semantics of what nickname suited him the best. No, he didn’t deserve any of them. He didn’t deserve either of them. He’d dragged them both into this horrible mess and they were _getting along._ Why did that feel like the worst part of all? Of course two of Harry’s favourite people in the world would get along, but it wasn’t right. There was a horrible rot within the foundation of their meeting and Caitlin couldn’t even see it. She didn’t even _know._

“Hey,” Louis’ voice was warm and soft and so close to his ear. Harry’s heart thrummed against his chest. “Hey, Styles, let’s get you out of here.”

Firm. Strong. Controlled. _Home._

Louis’ voice was doing a number on Harry. He felt safe. Safer, still, as he felt Louis’ arms around him as he pulled him out of the patio chair he’d been sitting in. Harry’s eyes flashed open as he was pulled to his feet. Louis. That was the only thing he could see. Hours ago, it would have been enough to light up every part of him…but now he just felt his eyes burning with shame and disgust and guilt. He glanced around, head spinning as he searched for Caitlin.

“She’s gone to call us a car,” Louis answered the question Harry didn’t ask, his hand reaching out to steady Harry’s head, holding his jaw firmly in place. “You’re a proper mess, aren’t you?”

“I’m—“ hiccup, “I’m so sorry, Lou.”

He felt the tears staining his cheeks then. They came hot and fast.

“Woah, woah, Harry,” Louis’ thumbs darted out to catch the tears as they poured down his face, “not now. Not now, Styles, don’t do this to me.”

Harry dared to meet Louis’ eyes, there was a tentative smile on his lips. It was a smile that he didn’t recognize. One he hadn’t catalogued in his memory banks. He sniffed and Louis’ smile brightened just a bit more. Harry’s knees weakened, swimming along with the rest of him.

“You’re quite the sight, mister pop star, falling to pieces on a patio after a pitiful 7 martinis. You bloody lightweight. No need to cry, Harold. I know what I signed up for.” But did he? Did he really have a clue or was he just as helpless as Harry was? “Come on, let’s get your back to your hotel and sleep this off. Things will be better in the morning, yeah?”

Louis dried the rest of Harry’s tears with the back of his hand before snaking an arm around Harry’s waist. Harry could have sworn he felt the ghost of Louis’ lips against his neck, but they were gone before he could sink into the familiarity. Louis slowly led them forward as Harry tried desperately to find his centre of gravity, tripping over his own foot, too focused on the swimming in his head to walk properly.

Louis caught him, though, pulling him back upright before he could stumble again, “I’ve got you baby, come on.”

 

…

 

Louis heard his phone go off all the way from the nightstand. He didn’t want to move, though. He was under too much stress to move maybe ever again. There was a constant loop playing from his Mac of Harry’s delicate voice singing about how Caitlin was a ghost.

What a fool he was to have believed those words. Caitlin wasn’t a ghost. She’d been right there, tangible between them, commanding the conversation in the most effortless possible way. She’s been anything but a ghost and Louis didn’t know what to do with that. Things had been complicated before, when she had just been the voice on the other end of the occasional phone call, but now she was there in Las Vegas. She was there, wrapping her arm around Harry’s waist as they climbed out of the car and leading him up to the hotel room. Now she was there with her foolish nicknames and he bright red lipstick and flamingo dress and basically ruining every sense of self that Louis was still trying to grasp.

He wanted to hate her. God he wanted to hate her. It would be so much easier then. It would be so much easier to pretend she didn’t deserve him and that Louis could treat him a million times better than she ever could...

But it just couldn’t be easy like that could it?

It was three in the morning and he’d drank half a bottle of scotch and there was just no reason he was still awake. The cruel universe had already done such a number on him that day. From that kiss he and harry had shared in the quiet hotel room, to the phone call with his mum, to the throngs of fans and photographers in the airport. He’d been so relieved when they finally arrived at Harry’s hotel. He was emotionally exhausted but because the universe believed in thorough punishment, he’d had to face Caitlin too, because why not?

And now he was done. He was so fucking done with everything but sleep somehow seemed like the furthest possible stretch.

So he was stuck there, laying in his bed listening to Harry’s song on repeat and pretending that he wasn’t facing the biggest crisis of his adult life. Harry was ruining the life he made brick by brick and Louis was helpless. Harry owned every part of him and it was so fucking stupid because he was married. His beautiful tongue was so quick to promise things that just couldn’t be possible—worst though? Worst was that Louis didn’t have the good sense to not believe those promises.

He groaned, since sleep seemed impossible and reached across the bed to find his phone. Surprisingly, the notification wasn’t from Harry (who was probably passed out with his face buried in the pillow next to Caitlin) (no, louis hackles should not be raised just at the thought of Harry sleeping next to his wife). Lottie’s name appeared on the screen. He grasped onto the knowledge that even though it felt impossible, Louis had a life outside of this mess.

He unlocked his phone quickly and opened up the text. There, on his screen, just above a mini rant from his oldest baby sister, was a screen shot from some internet tabloid. Never in his career had louis ever managed to matter enough to make it onto one of these tabloids, but wth Harry standing next to him in the Vegas airport, apparently now he was worthy. The caption above it read: “Harry Styles spotted in the Vegas airport with songwriting mogul, Louis Tomlinson, this afternoon. New album in the works? We can only hope!”

Fuck. Fucking shit.

He darted his eyes down the page to see what Lottie had said.

**_Lottie: YOU’RE WRITING WITH HARRY STYLES RIGHT NOW?!!!!! You never tell me anything!! I expect autographs!_ **

Louis smiled at the words. Lottie was always consistently impressed by the people that Louis worked with, so it should have come as no surprise that she’d be impressed by Harry as well. He was right up her alley.

He tapped out a quick,

**_Louis: Sorry Lots, you know the rule. No autographs from someone I’m working with._ **

Within half a second three angry emojis appeared. Louis chuckled and waited for the rest of her words.

**_Lottie: What good is having a brother in the industry if he won’t even get a simple autograph. You’re dead to me._ **

 

**_Lottie: Ps, why are you even awake? You bloody party animal. It must be like three in the morning there._ **

 

**_Lottie: WAIT_ **

 

**_Lottie: You’re partying with Harry styles aren’t you?_ **

 

**_Lottie: Omg I hate you_ **

 

She punctuated her last angry text with three crying faces. Oh how much Lottie didn’t know. There was no such thing as a party with Harry styles. Louis was learning that now. He wished it were that easy. Nothing with Harry was so easy, though. Every moment was like pulling teeth. Every second he was wrestling with the parts of himself that wanted to beg Harry for forever. Every second was reminding himself that he couldn’t really have it.

Now, every second was going to be remembering the way Caitlin laughed and the way Louis _actually really fucking liked her._ In another life, he’d easily have been her friend. The connection was simple and easy, but the reality was daunting. Louis had fucked her husband. Had fucked him many times in many ways and he couldn’t just keep facing Caitlin and making her laugh and lying.

God, when did he become such a good fucking liar?

 

Louis jumped at the sound of knocking on his door. He glanced back down at his phone. 3:14. He had a hunch of who might be standing on the other side, but he wasn’t entirely sure he’d recovered enough to deal with anything just yet.

He tossed his phone across the bed and allowed himself one self-indulgent moment of screaming ‘I don’t wanna’ into his pillow before he got to his feet. He marched slowly toward the door, dread building in his gut. He shouldn’t have to be doing this. This wasn’t his mess.

Sure enough, the second he pulled open the door, there was Harry. His eyes were puffy and he smelled like vodka. His black t-shirt was crinkled and his joggers screamed that he didn’t give a fuck what he looked like. That was out of character. Harry must have been in a right state to not care about how he looked. Louis swallowed once before letting Harry in. Harry marched passed him, rubbing his temples and squinting against the light until he dumped himself onto the couch.

“What are you doing here?” Louis asked, every part of his skin aching to be against Harry’s. Traitor. His body was a traitor.

“We needed to talk. I couldn’t wait, Lou, I missed you.”

Louis shook his head back and forth, “you didn’t warn me, Harry. That girl is wonderful and funny and... you should have warned me.”

Harry opened his mouth twice and shut it before he finally found words, “I fucked up, Lou. I know I fucked up, but I didn’t think she was coming here. I wouldn’t have, like, set you up for that, you know?”

Louis just stared at Harry. There were parts of him that wanted to scream and parts of him that didn’t want to say a word. He went with the ladder.

“Look, I know I fucked up. I know you’re afraid I’m not going to handle this right, so let’s talk. Let me tell you where I stand. Don’t just shut this down, Lou.”

Louis exhaled roughly, landing in his computer chair. He needed to be a safe distance from Harry if he was going to think rationally. “I don’t know what you could say to me to make me feel less like a sack of shit.”

“The last thing in the world I want is to hurt you, Lou and I mean that. I mean that more than I can possibly convey.”

Louis’ throat felt as rough as Harry’s voice sounded, “that’s just the problem, though, isn’t it? You make me happy, but, like, at what cost? At what point will I stop being able to look myself in the mirror? I want you, Harry, god I want you but I don’t think I can live with myself if this is what it’s going to be like.”

Louis watched as a tear rolled down Harry’s cheek. He hated being the reason for Harry’s tears but he had to be honest. He needed to make Harry understand the turmoil boiling inside of him.

“I want to be honest with you, Louis. I think you deserve to know where I’m coming from. It’s not... everything isn’t what you think it is and if I had any idea at all that I’d meet you, I would have made different choices. But maybe if I had, I never would have met you and maybe that would be worse.”

Louis wanted to get lost in the promises, but he also wanted to protect himself. Harry was making bold statements. He was making it seem over and over like he might choose Louis, but Louis was no fool. There was no winner in this. There was no way to dive in and come out unscathed.

“Really?” Louis’ voice felt too loud for the somber feeling in the room, “you don’t think it would be easier that way? If we never met.”

“No,” Harry sounded petulant, “no, no fucking way. Everything is the easiest with you.”

Louis sighed, “what about her, Harry? Do you even think about her?”

Harry looked like Louis had just slapped him across the face, “of course I do, Louis. Of course I think of her, but she’s not happy either, you know? She’s my best friend, but you don’t understand our relationship, so would you just let me explain?”

Louis nodded curtly. He couldn’t imagine there was an explanation in the world that could possibly make him feel any better about what they were locked in.

“I shouldn’t have married her. It wasn’t fair to either of us. It was just a really dark time in my life and I didn’t think I’d ever find something better,” he sighed, “and I’m not saying she’s not amazing. She’s one of the best most vibrant people I’ve ever met and she’d give a limb to fight for anything she cares enough about. She talks a big game, but she has a good heart. A great heart, really. And I mean it when I say she’s my best friend. I just—I don’t want you to think less of me when I tell you the truth.”

“I’ve known you were married since the day I met you and I still let all of this happen. Trust me when I say I can’t possibly think less of you than I think of myself.”

Harry looked like he was deep in debate in his head. His eyes darted anywhere but Louis. There was anxiety in Louis stomach and tomorrow, it would be 10 days. 10 days and there was no reason that something to fresh and new should have already caused him this much pain. Why couldn’t he just stop? Why couldn’t he just walk away with some of his dignity and self respect left in tact? Why did it feel like it mattered what Harry would say? There was no good explanation for cheating on your wife. There was a time in his life when Louis knew that. When he would have scoffed at anyone who tried to convince him otherwise.

Why was Harry the exception to everything? It wasn’t right. They weren’t right and Louis wished at least part of him believed that.

“I was in this band when I met Caitlin. Me and three other guys. We were kind of gaining a following. We’d been playing a lot of gigs all over the place. It wasn’t like, glamorous or anything close to what it’s like when I tour now, but we were pretty proud of it. I was only 18 at the time, only been out of the house for a few months and we were playing this gig in Manchester and there was this girl right there in the front and she found me after and I kind of blew her off. Made out like I was busy or something because I just wasn’t interested in anyone, really. I was pretty focused on the band.

“Anyway, long story short, we had this gig the next night and when I looked out, she was there in the front again. When I went outside to get some air after the show, she was out there smoking and we just started talking. Um, Obviously it was Caitlin. She was funny and she made me laugh and complimented the band, said I belonged on the stage and all these nice things. We talked for most of the night and I liked her, I did. But it wasn’t like when I met you, when I talked to you, Lou. It wasn’t the same and I guess I always knew on some level that there was something bigger out there, but like, I didn’t think I’d find it. I didn’t think I’d deserve to... And I guess maybe I didn’t because I made it into a fucking mess.”

Harry swallowed and Louis watched his Adam’s apple bob and Louis should have been thinking about anything else on earth other than how much he wanted to take Harry’s pain away, “everyone makes mistakes you know? It doesn’t mean you deserve for everything else to be tainted.”

Harry bit his lip, meeting Louis’ eyes, “do you want to know he real reason I married her? Fuck, Lou, I was wrong okay? I didn’t want to hurt her or anything. It’s just, like, have you ever met someone that you like, that you find attractive and it can work? It can easily work because you get on and there’s no reason really for it not to work...but they don’t complete you. They don’t make you feel like a better person. They don’t make you whole.”

Harry looked like he was going to cry at any second and Louis couldn’t take any more of that.

“If you say I complete you, I swear, Harold, Nicholas Sparks is going to sue your very existence for copyright infringement.”

Harry gave a watery laugh, and that’s all Louis needed. Somehow, the rational parts of himself shut down and he was walking toward the couch and collecting Harry in his arms.

“But, yeah. Yeah, Styles, I get it. I could have made it work with a dozen guys, but I didn’t. Guess I wanted to be completed or something equally as cheesy.”

Harry hugged Louis tightly, seeking comfort, “I should still be honest, though, I think. Just, like, in the interest of trying to make this work.”

Louis’ heart crashed against his chest. Harry wanted to make this work.

“She told me that second night that her dad was a big deal at this record label. And that was my dream, you know? I just wanted to write songs and tour the world and I wanted it so bad I didn’t care what it cost me. I was still just a dumb kid. I wanted her dad to sign us and as soon as I decided that, I was willing to do just about anything to get what I wanted.

So I dated her. I dated her until her dad came to one of our shows and told me I had something. Told me he’d think about it, that he’d pitch the idea to his colleagues.

Caitlin’s dad is really old school. Marriage is something he puts a lot of value in. When we were 19 he called me into his office and told me they wanted me. They thought that my voice could sell, that I could sign a deal and they’d get me on the radio. I wanted that. I wanted that so fucking bad and it was so close that I just jumped every time he said jump because my dream was right there and he was waving it in front of me.

“So naturally, when he told me the only thing I had to do was make it official, that he wanted me to marry his daughter, I didn’t feel like I had much choice. I was scared or intimidated or something. He told me if I was willing to take care of her that he’d take care of my career. He’d give me the things I always wanted. I was 19, Lou, I didn’t really think it through. I liked her. We had a good time together. We got along and I guess I knew that if the circumstances were different, maybe I wouldn’t have ended up with her, but it didn’t feel _bad._ It just didn’t feel right.

“I guess that was kind of the first thing that happened that made me feel like I’d lost control. I didn’t really understand what I was signing up for. You know when they say you can drop a frog in a pot of boiling water and he’ll just jump out, but if you drop him in and slowly turn up the heat, he’ll just stay there until he dies? I guess it was like that. It was just little thing after little thing until I was standing behind a microphone singing a bunch of songs I didn’t write, wearing clothes I didn’t pick with a band behind me that I didn’t know. They just kept taking away all these little things until one day I just woke up in a life that wasn’t mine.”

Louis just stared. He didn’t know what to say.

Here was this man. This man that had barged in and changed every opinion Louis had ever had about love. This man who made the corniest dad jokes known to mankind and still somehow made Louis laugh harder than he’d ever laughed with anyone else. Here was this man that had spilled his guts for Louis, whether it be like this, or through his songs…and there was something Louis was supposed to do here. Of that he was certain. There was a course of action that he was supposed to take when someone he had feelings for told him that he’d married a girl for a record deal.

Louis was supposed to back away. This was supposed to change everything, wasn’t it? This was supposed to put into perspective exactly what kind of person Harry was…

Instead, Louis’ heart ached. He ached not for the man who wore his mistakes like a shield against a life he had asked for, but certainly didn’t understand. No, Louis ached for the _boy,_ the helplessly impressionable kid who would have done just about anything to achieve the dream he’d pressed to his chest every day for his entire life. Instead Louis felt his blood boil over the fact that there was any person out there in the world that could have ever taken advantage of him. Instead he wanted to personally attack every single person who had ever made Harry feel like being himself wasn’t enough—that he had to sacrifice all the things that made him, him, just for the sake of selling some records. Harry was incredible—talented in a way that was rare, but people hadn’t seen that. Louis had seen that buried inside of a song that barely made it onto an album that didn’t reflect a single part of Harry. Louis could see it bleeding all over the floor as Harry tore his heart open for just the _chance_ that Louis might want him.

There was no words to sum that up, though. There was no good way for Louis to admit that as much as he acted like it did, Harry’s situation mattered very little to him because they had their own world. Maybe it was a fantasy that only existed while locked away in a studio together, but that fantasy with Harry was more real than anything else Louis’d ever felt and that _had_ to count for something. It just had to.

Louis had taken too long to respond, though, and Harry was monologuing again.

“Lou, seriously, I didn’t want to tell you all of that, but I want to be honest. Do you really think this is how I want things to be?” Louis tracked the singular tear that rolled down Harry’s face, “Do you really think I want to hide you? It took me 21 years to finally find a safe place, Lou, I don’t want to _hide_ that,” his voice cracked on the words, “I want to scream if from the rooftops that I finally found you—but I’m stuck.”

Louis reached out and dragged his thumb across Harry’s cheek, catching the fat tears before they began their journey down Harry’s cheeks, “stop that, you bloody sap,” he pretended to scold Harry, a smile on his lips, “I’m pretty fucking crazy about you, Styles, now what are we going to do about that?”

The storm in Harry’s eyes broke as his lips turned up into a smile, “figure it out. We’re going to figure it out, yeah?” Harry put his hand over Louis’ and met his gaze.

Louis nodded once, leaning in to press his lips against Harry’s. Maybe he was just sealing his fate. Maybe he was just letting the bad things win and he would pay for it all in the end. Maybe he, of the three of them, was going to be the one to break the most when the whole thing exploded. Harry had chosen his career once. He’d chosen it above himself—who was Louis to expect that he wouldn’t just do the same thing again? Maybe it didn’t matter what Harry said, what Harry wanted, because maybe he’d still choose Caitlin, still choose his record deal, his bloody fame. There was nothing there that was written in stone. It was terrifying. How was Louis supposed to keep choosing Harry when he had no idea who Harry was going to choose?

But, fuck it. Fuck all of it because Louis knew what he wanted. For the first time in a long time he wanted _someone._ Someone real and tangible and he would be a fool to think he could ever settle for less than that again.

 

…

 

“Hey, Lou,” Harry asked as he scrubbed his hair with Louis’ shampoo, toothbrush dangling from his mouth.

Louis looked up from scrubbing his legs with his loofa to meet Harry’s eyes, he smiled despite himself. It just wasn’t every day that an attractive naked man was scrubbing his hair and teeth in Louis’ shower at the same time as he was trying to carry on a conversation.

“What’s your favourite fruit?” Harry asked before dipping his head under the water and making the suds from his hair drip across his face.

Louis didn’t laugh—which took some effort, “D, none of the above.”

Harry laughed a proper laugh, spitting out his toothpaste and placing the toothbrush on the shower ledge, “no, for real. It’s research, remember?”

“For real,” Louis said, grabbing onto Harry’s hips and pulling himself flush against him, “I’d rater starve than eat something that isn’t empty carbs.”

Harry giggled, pinching Louis’ bum, “come on, Lou, you have to have a favourite.”

Louis rolled his eyes, running his fingers through Harry’s soapy curls, “fine. Kiwi.”

Louis pressed his lips against Harry’s and kissed him deeply, pushing him back under the spray of water. Harry laughed into Louis, his lips barely wavering as their tongues tangled and Louis deepened their kiss.

Louis pulled back to meet Harry’s eyes. Maybe they would be okay. Maybe they would figure out a way to tell Caitlin and maybe everything wasn’t fucking doomed like Louis had been assuming all along. Maybe it could work.

God, Louis wanted it to work.

“So,” Harry continued, asking more foolish questions for his pesky encyclopedia, “have you ever been to New Zealand, then?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Opinions? Emotional outbursts? 
> 
> All of the above are welcome in the comments or hit me up on instagram @feels.like.home01


	5. Sweet Creature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made you all wait forever, yet again..... I suck as a person. 
> 
> Hopefully some of you still care about this update!

_Sweet creature_

_Had another talk about where it's going wrong_

_But we're still young_

_We don't know where we're going_

_But we know where we belong_

 

Harry was on the balcony talking to _her._ On the list of things that Louis shouldn’t be doing, sitting at his iMac, googling ‘Harry and Caitlin Styles’ was probably at the very top. Something really big and ugly was brewing inside of him as he fell into the endless scroll of photo after photo. Red carpets, pap shots, they just kept coming and coming and he’d been staring at Harry for eleven straight days now and even though he knew that _this,_ what he was staring at on his computer, was Harry’s real life…it didn’t feel like that.

Louis had known from the word ‘go’ that this whole thing was bound to end in a mess…but it was getting worse now. It was getting so much worse because it felt like Harry was _his._ They’d created a routine, a comfortable way to exist together while shut away from the rest of the world and it just wasn’t fair that it had an expiration date. Every single time Harry smiled the only thing Louis could think was ‘ _mine, he’s mine’._ Louis would never have described himself as less than intelligent, but maybe he was a fucking moron because no matter how many times he faced it, no matter how many times he told himself he couldn’t _have_ Harry, it didn’t sink in.

And he knew, he fucking _knew,_ okay, that it wasn’t his right to be seething with jealousy over the fact that Harry was out on the balcony talking to his _wife_. He had no right to feel any sort of way about any of this because he knew it was wrong. He knew that at best this whole thing was going to end quietly with Louis as nothing more than a secret that Harry was forced for harbour for the rest of his life.

He knew that—he knew all of that—but it didn’t _touch_ him, see? It didn’t really sink in because Harry didn’t let it. He just kept acting like everything was fine—like they were allowed to be something more and maybe that was unfair, too. Maybe Harry should have mapped out some better ground rules and expectations because Louis was fucking suffocating on emotions. The jealousy, the rage, the unfairness of it all was making it impossible to breathe—but the rest of it was just as bad. The way his skin ached with the distance between he and Harry. The way his chest ached with fondness when he was looking down at Harry. The way he’d memorized every single way to make Harry squirm in pleasure and the way he’d catalogued every single sound he’d made when Louis touched him…

It was too much. It was all too much and the good was blinding him from the bad. He was forgetting to plan for things to go wrong. He was forgetting to keep things neat and tidy. Forgetting that Harry wasn’t his to court, wasn’t his to keep. It felt too real, too mutual. There was just no way that Harry wasn’t feeling the same thing…

Maybe they needed to talk about it. Maybe he needed Harry to lay all of his cards on the table so he could fucking figure out how to move on with his life when their three weeks were up. Maybe he needed to look Harry in the eye and ask him how it’ll feel when he has to say goodbye to Louis’ flat, to Las Vegas to the memories they’d made here. How it will feel to sing their songs over and over and remember exactly where the words were born.

Maybe, most of all, he should ask Harry how it will feel when he has to face her every day. When he has to lie to her face and pretend like everything that had unfolded between he and Louis didn’t happen.

But the only thing Louis wanted to ask was how Harry was going to feel when he has to run away from Louis like he hadn’t dropped a match and started a forest fire.

It wasn’t fucking fair.

“Lou?” Harry voice came from behind him.

Louis’ hands quickly flew to the keyboard and pressed Command + W and closed the window, but he figured the damage was probably already done. There was no hope that Harry hadn’t seen his fucking stupid google search. He didn’t know what to say. This whole thing had him feeling too fucking vulnerable.

“Hey,” he felt Harry’s hand on his shoulder, his voice firmer, “tell me what you’re thinking.”

Why did Harry have to demand so much of him? Wasn’t it enough to know that he was crushing Louis slowly? Wasn’t it already enough to know that Louis had no way out?

“What I’m thinking?” Louis voice was indignant. Why did it hurt? “What I’m thinking is that I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Louis, I know this isn’t ideal—“

“Ideal?” Louis’ voice squeaked on the word. Ha! Haha! What the fuck was Harry on about? “Darling, we’ve passed ‘not ideal’. Fucking miles ago, actually. Not ideal would be the fact that we’re based on different continents. Not ideal would be the fact that you have no real time to give me aside from this. You’re going to go home, record that album and go on tour, which is ‘not ideal’.” There was a bite to Louis’ words, but he could scarcely help himself. This whole thing was so fucking far from _not being ideal_. “Not ideal is the fact that I barely have time to keep in touch with my own family, let alone to try to be in a relationship. We have nothing to give each other, Harry.”

“Relationship?”

It was stupid of Louis to get lost in the hope he felt in the word.

He sighed in frustration, “you know what I meant.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, “you’re mad because you don’t think I feel the way you want me to.”

Louis shook his head, trying to let go of the frustration he was feeling. Harry lived in a fantasy.

“You shouldn’t have kissed me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah, well I want to, okay? I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind. You brought me into this and _I’m_ the one that’s going to leave with nothing while you get to have it two different ways. It wasn’t fair of you to bring me into this.”

“Louis, we should talk about this—about what you want…”

Louis made a hissing sound, “Jesus, Harry, don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter what I _want._ ”

Harry gripped either side of Louis’ face tightly, staring deeply into his eyes, “shut up, would you?”

Louis narrowed his eyes, trying to shake himself free of Harry’s grasp.

“Don’t you see it, Lou?” Harry said, hands still holding Louis so his gaze wouldn’t falter, “you’re it. You’re everything. At the end of the day, Lou, it all comes down to you. Life isn’t supposed to be easy, but this is, okay?”

“You can’t say that,” Louis argued even though his internal voice was shifting. Maybe Harry was on the same page as him. Maybe they were hoping for the same end game, “you can’t pretend like you can choose me.”

Harry’s brows pinched together and his expression turned earnest, “stop pushing me away, would you? Its not a choice Louis. There’s no contest. Its you. When all this is said and done, when our three weeks are up, its still going to be you, Lou. Its not a matter of who I choose, because it isn’t a _choice_. There isn’t a second option, okay? I want to be with you, isn’t that what you want?”

_Yes._

_Yes. Yes. Yes. A million times—yes._

“It’s not that simple, it’s not just about what I want.”

Harry groaned, “fucking Jesus, Louis. You’re going to give me a complex. What am I even fighting for, here? Do you not want this to work out?”

_More than anything._

More than anything Louis had ever had in his life he wanted this to work out. He wanted to ride off into the sunset with Harry and figure out what happened when the credits rolled. He wanted to know for the first time what the ‘ever after’ part of the story entailed. He wanted to know what life with Harry would really be like.

But there was so much standing in the way of that. There were so many decisions that Harry would have to make and Louis didn’t want to get his hopes up, because that was putting this whole thing into Harry’s hands. What was he going to do if Harry decided that it was easier to just keep living the life everyone else dictated? What if he woke up one morning and realized that Louis wasn’t really worth it? Louis didn’t have a record deal to dangle in front of Harry like Caitlin did. Yeah, maybe what they had was real, but Harry had given up things he loved before. He’d chosen his career over every other thing in his life…and Louis didn’t want to deal with that fallout.

He didn’t want Harry to walk away when things got hard—because they _would._ They would get hard when Harry was forced to face Caitlin, her father, the people who had tailor made a music career to hold him into their marriage. They would get hard when he was forced to watch Harry get raked across the coals on every social media as the world twisted the story to make him the bad guy. There was nothing but a road to ruin ahead of them—and, yeah, yeah what they had was amazing, but could anyone really be expected to make it through the shit-storm that would await them the moment they decided to try this thing for real?

Maybe there was no real chance at a happy ending here.

Harry’s hands fell from Louis face, the light in his eyes falling with them. He turned away quickly, making to retread back into the room.

Without thought, Louis’ hand shot out and gripped Harry’s wrist, desperate to erase the hurt he’d caused. It seemed like his subconscious was much more willing to admit that he was totally gone for this boy than the rational parts of himself. Damn that.

“Hey,” he practically cooed, fondness dripping from the word. Harry must have felt it, because he turned back and met Louis’ eyes, “yeah, okay, I want it to work out. I do. I do, so much. I’ve never wanted to be with someone like I want to be with you, Harry.”

The storm clouds parted and the sun broke in the form of a smile on Harry’s face.

“Really?” Harry’s voice was small, but his smile was bright.

Louis grabbed Harry’s other hand and wound their fingers together, “yeah, really. Even told me mum about you.”

Harry’s smile grew and he climbed onto Louis’ lap, settling himself across Louis’ knees, “I’ll make it work, Lou, I promise.”

Maybe Louis was only signing his own death certificate by choosing to believe the words—but he could deal with that later.

 

…

 

“What’s your passcode?” Caitlin demanded from the passenger’s seat of Louis’ Hyundai as they wizzed down the highway, destined for the airport.

Louis looked in his rearview mirror and met Harry’s nervous eyes, “wouldn’t you like to know,” he sassed back, eliciting a laugh from both of his passengers.

“Oh come off it,” Caitlin tutted, Louis’ phone in her hand, “you need a proper DJ because if I hear one more over-rated Arctic Monkey’s song I’m going to lose my mind. Besides, you don’t have my number saved in here anyway. What are you going to do when you miss me? We won’t even be able to text.”

“Hard to imagine I ever lived a live at all, pre-Caitlin Styles. A true tragedy.”

Harry was relentlessly opening and closing his window, a nervous tick that was more than a little bit annoying while trying to carry on a proper conversation. Harry had been quiet through most of dinner and the silence had carried over into the car ride. Maybe Louis couldn’t blame him for it because there was a lot to think about. Louis’ mind had been racing since their conversation that afternoon. Harry planned to choose him, to figure things out. Somehow he was going to break the heart of the bubbly woman sitting in the passenger’s seat and Louis hated himself a little bit for having that knowledge.

Louis’ job involved interactions with a lot of people. He’d sat through boring board meetings, had used the back entrance to award show after award show and had met more people than he could ever hazard a guess at. He’s always been good with that sort of stuff, charming them without really thinking about it. It was always superficial, always selfish and always a tool he used to further his personal success. It was so rare that Louis met a person that stood out from all of that. It was so rare that he met someone that sparked a genuine feeling in him that it must just be the law of the universe that of all the people he’d met in the last 10 years, Caitlin would have to be in the top five.

The thing was, even if Harry wasn’t sitting in the back seat, Louis would probably still have volunteered to drive her to the airport. He probably would have volunteered his phone number partway through their first night together. Caitlin was an easy friend. They clicked and Louis felt an unfair sort of sadness inside of him thinking about how he’d have to kiss that budding friendship goodbye the second that she learned about what was really happening between he and Harry.

“1224” he said the numbers out loud, meeting Harry’s eyes in the mirror again.

“Christmas Eve,” she said, punching the numbers into his phone and jumping straight into Apple Music.

“Or, as I like to call it, ‘my birthday’,” Louis said, waiting for the first note in the song that Caitlin was going to choose. Suddenly a loud guitar solo ripped through the quiet of the car. He raised his eyebrows, stealing a glance at Caitlin who just grinned.

“Really Cait?” Harry’s voice startled Louis. It was the first time he’d spoken since he’d gotten into the car. “You always pick this song.”

Caitlin laughed, turning around to face Harry, a grin set on her face, “because its my favourite ever, you should know this.”

Louis listened and waited for the words to start, the guitar still screaming loudly. After two minutes without words, Louis decided to question it, “who is this anyway? Are there no words to this song?”

“Well, well, well,” Caitlin started, “big time song writer Louis Tomlinson hasn’t even heard of Steve Vai, has he? It’s an unpopular opinion, but not every song needs words. Vai is proof of that. He says more in these six minutes than most people say on an album. You should give him a listen. He’s a literal god. Take some notes. Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two.”

Louis laughed and listened as the song played on. Caitlin was such an interesting person. Every time Louis thought he had her pegged she threw a curve ball. Her favourite song in the world was apparently played by a metal guitar god and yet she had found and married Harry Styles, the pop sensation. Like Louis needed more reasons to like her. He was already buried in his guilt, the last thing he needed to was to be reminded of just how lovely and just how human Caitlin was.

Thankfully, before they had much chance for anymore real conversation, they neared the airport.

“So I’ll be in LA with my dad until the end of the week, then I’m flying home,” she said, peering into the backseat. Louis watched in the mirror as Harry nodded slowly, “so good luck with the rest of the song writing, boys. Try not to miss me too much.”

“We’ll do our best to survive,” Louis said sarcastically as he parked alongside the curb.

All three of them piled out of the car and Caitlin stood next to Louis has Harry pulled her tiny suitcase out of the trunk.

“I put my number in your phone,” she said, a soft smile on her lips, “in case you ever end up in London, Harry and I just bought a new flat a couple of months ago. It’s got a guest room and everything.”

Caitlin was so blissfully unaware of how much every single one of her words cut into Louis. All these tiny reminders that he got Harry for a secret three weeks, locked away in his studio—but Caitlin? Caitlin got to have him on papers, on her fourth finger, in the eyes of everyone they met. She got to buy flats and plan their future and walk down red carpets. She got to have him in all the ways that maybe Louis never would. That stung.

“I like you, Louis Tomlinson,” Caitlin said, wrapping her arms around him, “you’re a good person. I’m glad Harry met you. He doesn’t have a lot of friends, you know? Everyone always seems to want something from him and its just kind of nice to see he finally met someone like you. You’re always welcome at our place.”

Louis hugged her back, body stiff against her. He was a liar. He was a fraud and Caitlin didn’t even have enough intuition to _suspect_ anything. She was so good, so content, so convinced that she knew what was going on she didn’t even have a suspicious bone in her body.

They pulled apart and Caitlin placed one soft kiss on his cheek, pinching it directly afterwords.

“If I find out you went to London and didn’t call me, I’ll personally come to Vegas and kick your arse. Take care, Louis.”

Louis' lips pulled back in the fakest smile he’d ever given Caitlin, “take care.”

Quickly, Louis resumed his position behind the wheel and did everything in his power not to look out the window at Harry and Caitlin’s goodbye. He counted the grooves in his steering wheel and then flipped through every radio station, trying not to take his eyes off the dashboard. Eventually, though, he started to run out of distractions and his gaze floated out the passenger’s window.

Of course he knew that he shouldn’t have bothered looking. He knew that he didn’t want to watch Harry say goodbye to his blissfully ignorant wife. He knew that he wasn’t going to see something that he wanted to, but still his eyes wandered out the window in search of his boy…

Caitlin’s arms were wrapped around Harry’s neck, her face pulled back as she laughed that contagious laugh of hers. Louis had only seen her for two days of his life, but even with the silence of the car it was easy for him to fill in the blanks and remember just how her laugh sounded. Maybe that was something that he’d never forget. Maybe that was something he’d never be able to live with if he was the one to take it away from her. The world would truly be a darker place without her laughter.

Harry’s hands rested on her sides and his own smile broke the muscle in Louis’ chest. Maybe part of him knew that Harry didn’t have a real plan yet. Maybe he rationally knew that Harry had no other choice but to pretend that things were normal, so of course he had to hold her close. Of course he had to make her laugh. Of course Harry had to do everything in his power to appear normal.

That didn’t stop the hurt from creeping into Louis’ chest, though. It didn’t stop the way his skin crawled as he watched Caitlin stand on her tip toes, lips puckered as Harry leaned down to meet her lips with his own. Louis wanted to vomit. The jealousy that boiled under his skin was completely unbearable. He wanted to drive away at top speed. He wanted to leave them and their husband-and-wife display in his dust and scream the whole way home.

But he knew he couldn’t. He knew he had a role to play here. He knew that he had to hold it together for all their sakes.

He watched as they pulled apart, Harry’s hands falling at his sides. Caitlin smiled a sweet smile up at him and reached out to tug one of Louis’ favourite curls at Harry’s temple. Jealousy was irrational. It was irrational and Louis was losing his fucking _mind._

He read Caitlin’s lips as she said the words ‘love you, goob’, and watched as Harry smiled back and said the same words.

Did harry mean that? He he mean those words or was he just saying them for the sake of his record deal? Every emotion happening inside of Louis was wildly irrational and he had no right to feel any type of way about the married man he was shagging. He had no right to be jealous of his beautiful and funny wife. He had no right to feel any of the things he was feeling. This whole thing was a mess and all it would take was one dropped match to light the whole fucking thing on fire.

When they burned—when he and Caitlin and Harry _burned_ —would they even end up with anything? Would any of them even end up somewhere close to happy or was everything around them just a crucible, destined for total and utter destruction? Would Louis or Caitlin ever get to walk away with any semblance of a life post-Harry Styles, or would they both just lose everything?

Both scenarios seemed equally likely and maybe Louis should have taken that as a sign from the universe. He was either going to get everything he wanted at the sacrifice of someone he could really picture himself adoring’s happiness, or he could be let-down with her. Either choice kind of seemed like a negative from where Louis was standing.

What the fuck was he doing?

The passenger door suddenly opened and the noises of airport chaos slipped back in and Louis looked up to meet Harry’s green eyes as he silently climbed into the passenger’s seat. Quickly, Louis shifted gears and sped away from Caitlin as she entered the doors of the airport.

Louis couldn’t think of a single thing that he wanted to say as he merged onto the freeway. He wanted to vomit or cry or scream at Harry that he was done. That he didn’t possibly have anything left to give, but instead he bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood. There wasn’t anything he _could_ say. He couldn’t really be upset with Harry for kissing his wife. He couldn’t really speak to any of it because he didn’t have any real pull. He was the stranger in this situation. He was the one who’d appeared out of nowhere and begun to dismantle a marriage that he didn’t even begin to understand. None of this was his to be upset about.

He wasn’t sure, but maybe that was the part that hurt the most. He wasn’t the easy choice. He wasn’t the one that Harry was supposed to choose. He was the bad guy and maybe that was the part that was hardest to deal with.

Somewhere, halfway to Louis’ studio, in the dead silence of the car, Louis felt heat on his thigh. Harry’s hand was there, out of the blue. He wasn’t saying a word, but when Louis stole a glance in his direction, he saw the pain on his features. He sighed in defeat, placing his hand on top of Harry’s. Without hesitation, Harry moved to wind their fingers together and squeezed Louis hand.

“I’m sorry,” Harry’s voice was melancholy and it left a burning sensation in Louis’ stomach. Harry lifted their hands and placed a kiss on the back of Louis, sending chills down Louis’ spine as he read the street signs for their exit. “I’ll fix it.”

Louis let Harry’s deep voice echo through the car and the rest of their drive was just silence as they gripped each other’s hands helplessly.

 

…

 

Louis eyes opened slowly, light pouring in from the balcony doors, where the curtains were wide open. He was about to curse, which was his natural instinct when he was faced with mornings, but instead he was distracted by a delicious group of scents that wafted in from the kitchen. Bacon, eggs, toast, coffee. They all hit him at once and a smile instantly fell across his face.

Harry.

Harry was there and he was awake and he was making Louis breakfast and how could Louis not smile about that? When they’d gotten back from the airport they’d barely spoken as they mechanically went through the routine of getting ready for bed. Louis couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Harry that would be worth anything. He’d been quiet as they stood next to each other and brushed their teeth. He’d been silent as he watched Harry crawl into his bed next to him. He’d stayed quiet as Harry clung to him and soaked his shirt with salty tears and whispered apologies.

Harry was broken. He was broken in so many more ways that Louis could understand and the world wasn’t fair. The last person in the universe that deserved unhappiness was Harry. Louis couldn’t bare the thought that he might have had anything to do with Harry’s unhappiness.

Quickly he tore the covers off of himself and jumped out of bed, reaching for one of Harry’s t-shirts that was discarded on the chair by his bed. He pulled it over his head while marching toward the kitchen. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he took in the sight of Harry buttering toast and carefully arranging it on a plate next to bacon and eggs, humming the last song they’d finished.

Louis cleared his throat and Harry turned around, his features unsure.

Louis smiled, “morning, Styles,” he said, watching as Harry relaxed a couple of notches and returned the smile, “looks like you really went all out this morning.”

“I just wanted to apologize,” Harry’s words were uncertain.

“You don’t need to apologize, Harry.”

“No, but I do,” he insisted, “I need to apologize because this whole thing fucking sucks for you and I think I kept forgetting about that because I’ve been so worried about what’s going to happen to me. I’ve been selfish.”

“Harry, really, it’s—”

“No, Louis. I owe you an apology because if you have felt for a second that you’re unsure of where my heart is then I’ve fucked up even more than I thought. If you think for even a second that you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me, then you’re wrong. If you think I could possibly get on a plane leave Las Vegas and forget about you, you’re so fucking wrong Louis. I’m going to figure this whole thing out. I’m going to do everything I need to do on my part to make sure that I’m the man you deserve.”

And, well, what could Louis possibly say to that?

 

…

 

“You’re coming home for Christmas this year, right?”

Louis tossed the butt of his cigarette in the general direction of the butt can and sighed into the phone, “I don’t know, Fizz. I can’t make any promises. I don’t know what my schedule will be like.”

“I’m bored of that excuse,” she sassed and damn it, she was his sister wasn’t she? His influence was evident in the way she spoke a good chunk of the time, “the fuck is the difference what continent you write your songs on? Its been two years since you’ve come home.”

“I’m sorry.”

And he was. He was always sorry. He was pretty sorry that his whole life revolved around him being sorry for various let-downs. He was sick of missing birthdays and sick of missing christmases and graduations. He was sick and tired of being a shit brother and sick and tired of being a shit son—but it just felt so inevitable. He felt like there was no way for him to be any different. This was the life he knew now—and he wasn’t making it up. He was busy. He was overbooked and stretched thin and this three weeks with Harry had turned out to be the biggest break he’d given himself in _years._ He’d even left Vegas for something more than a couple of nights in LA with work colleagues.

Maybe things were changing in Louis’ life. Maybe for as much as Harry had thrown him a curveball, made him question what ‘morals’ even were, maybe he’d helped him, too. There was a whole life Louis had once had outside of his studio and for the first time in a long time he felt an ache inside of him where those parts used to exist. There was so much in his life that he wanted to show Harry.

“Yeah well, stop being sorry and start being my brother again, how about that?”

There was a rustling on the other side of the phone as Louis scrambled for words to make Fizzy understand. Before he could think of a single one of them, he heard his mother’s voice.

“Louis?” She asked softly.

“Yeah, mum, I’m still here,” Louis said as he buried his fingers into his fringe. There was had to be something he could say to his sisters to make them understand. He didn’t want to be the bad guy. He wanted to go back to being the big brother they cherished above all other men. He wanted so badly to still be that person, but he couldn’t blame Fizzy, really, could he? He’d made himself the bad guy. He’d made everything else more important than the five women who had loved him day in and day out for all of their lives. They deserved so much more than the man that Louis had become.

“Fizzy just handed me the phone and muttered something about you being a jackass and ran to her room. What happened?”

Louis groaned, “nothing. Nothing happened I just told her I don’t know what my schedule is going to be like by Christmas and—”

“Another Christmas without our Louis. I see why she’s upset.”

“I—it’s…no, mum. I didn’t say that. I’m not saying that. I want to be there. I do. I really, really, do,” Louis watched through the glass door of his balcony as Harry unloaded the dishwasher in just his Calvin Klein briefs and let out a sigh. Fuck. Fucking fuck life wasn’t fair because if it was up to Louis he would just yell a big ol’ ‘fuck you’ to the rest of the world and drag Harry back to Doncaster and make his sister’s listen to him as he listed alphabetically all the reasons why Harry was the best person to ever walk the planet.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be so open. He couldn’t be so shameless in his displays of affection because Harry wasn’t his—not properly, not yet.

“I miss you,” he whispered into the phone, “I miss you all the time and I’m sorry I haven’t been able to make it work. I just…I don’t want the girls to think I don’t care about them. I’m trying you know?”

His mum sighed a long sigh before she spoke again, “I know,” she confirmed.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” he said, surprising himself with the words, “like about coming home. Not for good or anything like that…I just. I feel like it would be nice to be there. I miss England. I miss the girls and I just feel like things would be easier if I was closer to home.”

“You mean things would be easier with Harry?”

Louis felt a chill run down his spine. He felt like the was going to vomit. Had his mum really just said that? Had she really just thrown a grenade into their conversation without any sort of preamble? How had she even guessed that? How was she that good? Could everyone see it? Oh fuck. _Couldeveryoneseeit?_

There was no way that Louis could just accept his mother’s words like they were a statement of fact. She couldn’t know. She couldn’t know the whole truth because it was too risky. She already knew enough and Louis refused—downright fucking _refused_ —to give her any sort of confirmation.

“I beg your pardon, Harry, who?”

“Oh baby, I saw the pictures. The smile on his face said it all. I know what it’s like to be charmed by Louis Tomlinson. You look good. Happy.”

 

…

 

Louis tapped his foot as he waited for the lift to take him to the top floor. He whistled along with the song that was playing on the radio and smiled politely at the elderly couple that got off a few floors before him. He made his way to Harry’s door and knocked quietly. Harry had just left his studio approximately 58 minutes before Louis had, on the premise of getting some fresh clothes. Maybe it should have scared Louis more than it did that all it took was that small amount of time for him to a) miss Harry and b) to devise a plan.

Harry’s face appeared as the door was tentatively pulled open. His grin was blinding as the realization it was Louis came across him. That’s all it took, okay? Just that moment and Louis knew his fate was actually sealed. There wasn’t ever going to be another boy like this. He could live the rest of his life and date every single person he met on grinder and there would never, ever be another Harry. It was mutual. And yeah, Harry had told him approximately 1000 times that it was, but for some reason, this was the moment that it was dawning on Louis.

Louis was done for. Harry was his person. It wasn’t debatable, because the genuine affection and joy that were dancing on Harry’s expression in that split second were all that Louis needed to know that he was going to walk through every fire and follow Harry through the depths of hell because _this._ This thing between them…it was everything.

“Lou,” and Louis could get lost in the fondness in Harry’s voice pretty easily, but he tried to reign it in because he wasn’t supposed to be the sappy one in this situation. He was supposed to be the one with a level head who grounded all of Harry’s whimsical thoughts. Getting lost in his own fondness definitely didn’t fit that role.

“Styles,” he returned Harry’s smile without thought, “gonna let me in, or what?”

“Of course!” Harry excitedly bounded further into the room, sprawling across the king-sized bed and making grabby hands at Louis, “what are you doing here?”

Louis lifted the plastic shopping bag in his hand, “I have a proposition for you,” he answered as he walked toward the bed.

He dropped the bag down beside Harry, but instead of reaching for his gift, Harry grabbed onto Louis hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly. Harry tugged Louis until he landed on the bed next to him, practically crushing the bag he’d been carrying. Instantly, Harry’s lips were on his, kissing him until Louis was breathless and laughing against him. He pulled back, pressing his hands against Harry’s chest.

Harry pouted, “I missed you,” he insisted.

Louis laughed, dipping in to leave a kiss on Harry’s flushed cheek, “it’s only been an hour, love. Don’t go getting all needy on me, now.”

Harry made a sound of disagreement before rolling Louis over and jumping on top of him in one swift movement. He grinned devilishly down at Louis, “I’ve always been needy.”

“Bit sad you’re so needy that you don’t care about my proposition _or_ your gifts,”

“I do care,” argued Harry as he bent down to nibble on Louis’ collarbone, “presents are great,” he said against his skin, sending shivers down Louis’ spine, “but I care about you more.”

“Well,” began Louis, “as much as I’m a fan of a good old fashioned Harry Styles distraction method, this proposition expires soon, so alas, my love, we must make haste. Open the bag, Harold, would ya?”

Harry sighed dramatically before biting down on Louis’ collarbone much harder, “fineeee,” he mumbled before rolling off of Louis. He got to his feet and grabbed the bag, eyeing Louis suspiciously.

“So, I know a guy,” said Louis, getting to his feet as well.

“Is that so?” Asked Harry, “and what kind of guy is he? A drug dealer? A mobster? The kind of man who can make someone very famous disappear on a desert island with a handsome brunette by his side?”

Louis snorted, “no, no and no. He writes songs. I think you guys would get on. He’s a good mate of mine and I think it would be cool if you tried working with him.”

“Great,” agreed Harry, “when’s that going to happen?”

“Well, that’s what the present is for.”

Harry raised and eyebrow at Louis before reaching into the bag. The first thing he pulled out were a pair of sunglasses big enough to cover most of his face. He laughed before placing them on the bed and reaching back into the bag. This time he pulled out the ugliest green trucker hat Louis had ever seen with a Bass Pro logo on it. This time Harry let out a laugh before placing it on the bed and reaching in to pull of the last item. He held up the XL t-shirt in front of him and inspected the writing on it which proudly displayed ‘ _Drunk chicks think I’m sexy’_ in giant white script. Harry tossed it on the bed, looking to Louis for an explanation.

“His name is Liam and he lives in New York. Our plane leaves in a couple of hours and I’ll be damned if I’m leaving another disguise up to you. You’re terrible at it.”

Harry beamed, “another trip, just us?”

Louis nodded, because, yeah, Harry and Liam would get on great and they’d probably write another fantastic song for Harry’s album and the whole story would pass off as nothing more than Louis benefiting Harry’s career…but it wasn’t about that. It was about stealing Harry away from the world again. Louis was big enough to be able to admit what his real intentions were. Especially since his conversation with Fizzy…since his conversation with his _mum_ , Louis was having a hard time thinking about anything but the places he wanted to be able to take Harry. The thing was that most of those places involved Doncaster and his family and Louis couldn’t do that…not yet. Maybe not ever. But since he and Harry were still in this thing, since they were still playing pretend, Louis _could_ take him to New York. He needed to at grasp at something to make them feel real.

“Aw, Lou,” cooed Harry as he wrapped his arms around Louis’ neck, kissing his cheek sheepishly, “you sweet, sweet creature. You’re the best. I’ll get packed.”

 

…

 

By the time their flight had landed at JFK, it was just passed midnight in Las Vegas, making it 3 in the morning New York time. The moment they stepped outside of the airport and felt the cool September air on their faces, Louis was struck with the contrast of how quiet the world seemed that that hour. Harry seemed unaffected—like he was made for travelling the world and time zones were of little concern to him. Louis had learned this early on in his visit. Harry had never truly bothered trying to adjust to the time zone in Vegas, favouring naps at all hours and nights reading or playing guitar on the balcony. Harry seemed naturally favoured for his career choice.

There was nothing in the world quite like New York City. Louis had been there many times in his life, but it always struck him to be back. Even now, at three in the morning the ‘quiet’ that he was taking in really wasn’t all that quiet. There were people buzzing about, cars zooming down the nearly empty street, but somehow it still felt calm. Tame in comparison to the mid-day bustle that usually marked the city.

The cab ride to Brooklyn, where Liam lived had been quiet. Harry had leaned on Louis’ shoulder and chattered quietly about how much he loved New York city in the summertime. Louis was content, was the thing. He was content as they pulled up to the hotel and he reached out to put Harry’s sunglasses back on. He was content as they took the lift up to their room and content as Harry wrapped his arms around him from behind. He was more content that he could ever remember being and it was like this whole thing was real. It was just like it had been in Carolina, only better somehow. Somehow, most of the cards were on the table and everything was a shit storm, but Louis was content. Maybe it was naive when he knew that things couldn’t keep being this smooth, but it was hard to remind himself of that when things felt so real.

Harry’s lips laid soft kisses along Louis’ neck as he leaned his body against him. Louis sighed and tilted his head, letting the feeling that Harry made in his chest take over. He felt like the world was right—like this was real. Harry was his and it was perfect and romantic and everything was fine.

“You’re so good, Lou,” Harry whispered against the back of Louis’ neck. Slowly, his hands migrated from Louis hips and under his tshirt. Louis shivered as Harry’s palms traced across his stomach, “you’re so good to me and I don’t deserve it. I want to be the person to deserve me to be.”

Louis pressed back into Harry as he felt Harry’s cock starting to harden against him. Louis turned his head and met Harry’s eyes, “you’re exactly the person I want you to be.”

The confession felt raw, the whole mood to the room felt raw. Like they were exposed before they were even really naked. Louis felt different. It had been brewing for awhile, but there was something when he’d seen Harry’s face that afternoon when he’d shown up with his grand plan. There was something in Harry’s eyes that had changed everything and fuck, Louis was just so in it. There was no other choice because this was his life now—Harry was his life now. Maybe there were a lot of obstacles in the way, but they would bend. They would break and the world would come together because there was no other possible ending to this story. There was no other option but Harry and Louis ending up together. Louis wasn't naive enough to believe that it would be simple, but it would be worth it. It would be worth every single thing he’d have to give up to live in moments like this forever.

He tilted his head to catch Harry’s lips. The kiss was slow and sensual and built as Harry’s hands made their way to the waistband of Louis’ joggers. Louis’ breath stopped in his throat as he felt Harry’s hands slip below the band of his briefs and brush against his cock.

“God, I want you, Lou,” Harry buried the words in Louis’ hair as he rutted up against him from behind, “I want you so much, all the time.”

Louis turned then, burying his hands in the curls at the nape of Harry’s neck, “fuck, H, I’ve never wanted anybody the way I want you,” he breathed before meeting Harry’s tongue with his own.

Louis had had Harry in nearly every single way he could think of in the past 14 days. _Fourteen days_. Somehow it seemed like so little and yet it had been long enough, hadn’t it? Two weeks had been more than enough time for Louis to know exactly where his heart was. It didn’t scare him anymore, not the way it had a few days ago, not the way it had the first time he’d met Caitlin. Harry could shatter his world, but there was something between them that Louis now realized was missing from every other relationship he’d been in: trust. He trusted Harry, god did he trust Harry. It was sudden and abrupt and in no way the way that Louis imagined his life being, but Louis trusted Harry and somehow he knew that Harry would do everything in his power to make sure Louis was taken care of. Louis had never even known he’d _wanted_ that, and yet here he was. Here he was wrapped up in the arms of this beautiful boy that he just absolutely had to give the world to.

He pushed Harry’s body onto the bed, scrambling to tug his own shirt over his head as Harry watched from the mattress. Louis had barely even done anything, and yet Harry looked absolutely wrecked. His cheeks were flushed a soft pink and his lips were bitten and red and his cock was straining against his tight jeans and _fuck._ Louis got to have this. This display was for him and it was just fucking magical and there just had to be some way to show Harry how much he appreciated seeing this side of him.

Louis quickly slipped his joggers along with his briefs down his legs as Harry watched, palming himself through his jeans.

Harry bit his lip as he looked to Louis, “fuck Lou, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

Louis moved to the bed then, straddling Harry’s still clothed body, leaning in to kiss his neck. Harry’s hips jutted up and he pressed himself against Louis, causing a moan to fall from each of their mouths. Harry’s hands gripped tightly into Louis’ hair, “kiss me,” he begged. Their tongues twirled together, Harry’s jeans rubbing against Louis’ hardened cock and making him question his sanity.

Louis sat back up, looking down at the boy beneath him and feeling his heart glow in his chest. There was too much fondness…so much _something_ going on inside of him. He felt like he had the flu and yet all he wanted was this. He wanted this to last forever because Harry was there and that was all that mattered in the world. Just Harry and just Louis and nothing else in the world could touch this, because this wasn’t what sex had ever been like. This was all for Harry, just Harry. He made the whole world different. He had given Louis the ability to see a million things he’d never seen before.

Slowly, he slipped Harry’s shirt over his head and made a point to cherish every bit of skin as it was revealed. Harry didn’t try to lead anything, he just patiently waited for whatever Louis wanted next, responding to him in all the right ways. They were so good. They were so fucking good together and Louis felt like he was choking on something. Something right on the tip of his tongue, on the edges of his mind and whatever Harry wanted, whatever Harry needed. That’s what he was going to give because this was everything.

Louis shimmied down to Harry’s thighs, undoing the button at the top of his jeans. Harry’s head thrashed side to side on the pillow as Louis slipped his hands into his pants, cradling his bare cock in his palm. _Fuck Louis’ life_ because Harry never wore underwear and it was just the best surprise every damned time.

“God, you’re so good, Harry. So fucking good.”

There was no point to waste anymore time. Harry was supposed to be naked. It was the best way Louis could imagine seeing him. He pulled Harry’s jeans off of him and tossed them to the floor, bending over Harry again to kiss him as deeply as he could manage. Harry squirmed beneath him, seeking any sort of friction against his glorious, hard dick. How did Louis manage this? How did he manage to get someone like Harry to be so god damn responsive to _him_ of all people? There had to be something bigger involved here. There just had to be. Louis had never believed in soulmates or destiny, but was that just because he didn’t know any better? Was it just because in his wildest dreams he would have never been able to imagine there could be this?

He sat back, then, Harry’s hard cock resting against his ass. Harry’s eyes shot open, his hands instinctively gripping Louis’ hips and pushing him down harder and _okay._ That was a thing. That was definitely a thing that Harry liked. He felt Harry’s thumbs digging into his hips and he groaned agains the sensations overwhelming him.

It wasn’t like Louis hadn’t had his fair share of experimenting with being a bottom. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ bottoming on occasion—it was just not something he did often. It was a lot of effort. Maybe it was out of laziness or something, but Louis tended to top more often than not and perhaps it was just because he’d never seen the point in putting in so much effort before. It was mostly just the fact that all of his past boyfriends had just been a flash in the pan and they didn’t _deserve_ to see Louis at his most vulnerable.

And yeah, that was it. Bottoming left Louis strangely vulnerable and there was a sort of empty neediness that always creeped in and no one ever cared enough to notice that. No one ever really wanted to take care of him, but the feel of Harry’s strong hands on his hips, pressing bruises against his bones…it was doing something to Louis. It was making him reconsider yet another position he had perviously felt firm in.

He rocked back slowly, feeling Harry’s shaft as it slid against his entrance. A shiver run through him and Harry gasped beneath him, his left hand sliding up Louis stomach to flick at Louis’ now extremely hard nipple. Louis bit his lip and leaned back, sliding against Harry’s cock again.

“Jesus, Louis, you always feel so fucking good,” Harry grumbled from below him.

With one strong hand still gripping Louis’ hip, Harry’s other hand fell to Louis’ cock, sliding slowly up and down, “god you’re pretty,” and fuck. If Louis wasn’t safe here, he wasn’t really safe anywhere, was he? Harry didn’t even know the dialogue that was happening in his head and yet somehow he was saying all the right things. He just felt so good—so right—all the fucking time and Louis just had to give this to him, too.

Louis grabbed onto Harry’s wrist, pulling his hand up to his face. Without dwelling on what any of it meant, he took Harry’s first two fingers into his mouth and sucked them deeply. Harry’s expression was unreadable. He looked so thoroughly fucked and Louis hadn’t even really done anything—not yet—and yet Harry looked like he could barely take anymore.

Slowly, Louis pulled off of Harry’s fingers. He shifted his weight off of Harry’s cock and got to his knees, hovering over Harry’s body. Quickly, without letting Harry question him, he guided Harry’s hand between his legs. Harry held it there, hovering just at Louis’ entrance, a question burning in his eyes. Louis wasn’t in the mood to talk, he didn’t need to explain himself. He shifted back, pressing his hole against Harry’s fingers.

 

…

 

Louis was different. Something inside of him had shifted and Harry felt it. It was like all the things that Harry had been saying all along had finally struck a chord with him. Harry sensed that he had to have done something to shift Louis so drastically, but he didn’t have a clue what it could have been. Louis had been trying so hard for the past two weeks to hold himself back, to protect himself from harm and now, for some reason, right in that second there were no walls. There was no sarcasm, no dagger-shaped reminders to drive into Harry that he was hurting him. There was just a real, honest need from a real, honest person and Harry wanted time to stop, because this vulnerability looked _so_ good on Louis.

Louis’ head tipped back and his eyes squeezed shut as Harry’s first finger pushed past his tight entrance...and the world was a different place. The world had to have stilled completely because Harry was inside of Louis, connected to him in a way that he hadn’t even known he needed.

And maybe this is what marked the differences in them. Harry was quick to recognize his affections. He had always found it easy to accept the things that struck his fancy and he’d never been able to hold back in any way. When Harry adored something, he showed it. He went for it. He was quick to make sure that everyone around him knew exactly what he desired. So it should have come as no surprise to him that he’d given this part to Louis without thought. Louis had opened him up, seen inside of him all from that first night because that’s the kind of person Harry was. Despite all the people who had wronged him or taken advantage, he’d known he could trust Louis with the truest parts of himself.

Louis was different though. Louis wore his fears and his rejection and hurt like a shield. He scared off anyone who didn’t deserve to look deeper as quickly as he could. When that didn’t work, he pushed. He tested boundaries and pressed buttons and flat out fought against his feelings—lest he be hurt.

But now, somehow, Harry had made it to the other side. He had stripped Louis of his armour and he was seeing the raw, honest man beneath and there was no way that Harry could ever express his gratitude.

He was going to do everything he could to protect Louis from the rest of the world. He was going to do everything he could to be the person Louis needed him to be, no matter how scary getting there was going to be.

Harry pressed his finger in deeper and watched as Louis’ face crinkled with the pain. He knew the feeling, the burn, the intense discomfort that lasted for just a smidgen too long. The way the pain started to edge on unbearable before the pleasure even started to set in. He needed to get Louis past this, to bring him to the other side and just connect to him in all the ways he realized he needed.

“I want to make you feel good,” he was surprised by the hoarse sound to his voice. Louis’ eyes slotted open as Harry slid his finger slowly out of Louis hole. He sat up slowly, collecting Louis in his arms and kissing him deeply, “I’ve got you, baby,” he reminded Louis as he pressed his body onto the mattress, “I’ll take care of you, Lou.”

He said the words as he turned Louis’ body over, laying him on his stomach. He kissed the back of Louis’ neck, breathing in his scent and cataloguing it in his memory. There was nothing in the world that felt the way Louis felt. There was nothing comparable to the feeling he got when his skin touched Louis’.

Slowly, he kissed a line straight down Louis’ spine, sliding one of his arms under Louis’ hips, lifting him onto his knees. “Fuck, Lou, _fuck_ ,” he whined as he stared at Louis’ perfect ass. It bordering on being too much. He squeezed his own cock. He needed this to last. Needed to prove he could do this for Louis. He needed to prove he was _worthy_ of this side of Louis. He leaned in and kissed the dimples at the bottom of Louis’ back, lingering there, preparing himself. Slowly, he moved his mouth lower and lower until he was kissing Louis’ soft, pink hole. The realization sent pin pricks on pleasure directly to his cock. He moaned as he reached his tongue out and licked at the hole. Instantly he felt Louis’ body go lax, his face now buried in the blanket. There was no better way Harry’d ever heard his name said than the way that Louis moaned it as he rocked back into Harry’s tongue. How was this even real? How was Louis even real? Harry had always been a hopeless romantic…but this was more. This was so much more than he’d expected because not only was it this burning, passionate thing, it was also laughing until he wanted to cry and absolutely adoring the way that Louis teased him. It was every little thing and he’d never imagined he could mesh with someone like this in bed…but for that to translate into the rest of life? How could one singular person fulfil him like this? It didn’t feel possible, and yet here Louis was, panting against the bed sheets and mumbling incoherently for Harry to never stop.

Harry pressed his tongue into Louis’ ass, pushing passed the opening and feeling absolutely overwhelmed by every sensation that was striking him all at once. Slowly, he eased his face out of Louis’ ass and slid a finger inside of him. Louis let out a strangled cry, body tensing around Harry’s digit and _dammit._ How was Harry ever going to be able to handle his cock inside of Louis’ tight heat? He could feel it with _one finger_ for fucks sake.

“Uh, fuck, Harry, please, _please,”_ Louis begged as Harry pulled out to find the bottle of lube in his suitcase.

He fumbled his way back to the bed, squirting the liquid onto his fingers, “can’t wait to feel you, baby, can’t wait to be inside you,” he promised as he slid two of his fingers into Louis, curving them _just so_ to hit that spot that he knew would make Louis squirm with pleasure. He had just barely gotten a third finger in before he heard Louis begging him again.

“Please, H. Please, want you inside me, don’t make me wait.”

How on earth was he going to survive this? How on earth was he supposed to get more than two thrusts in when he was staring at the back of Louis head and pressing in to him and Louis was saying things like that? He couldn’t do it. Not like this.

“Fuck Lou, I want…I want you on top of me. Ride me, baby.”

Louis turned his head, sweat beading on his forehead and he nodded, “yeah, yeah,” he said, biting his lip as Harry removed his fingers.

“Wanna look at you on top of me, wanna watch you come. Fuck Lou, want you so much.”

Harry laid on the bed and watched as Louis straddled his hips, his hand on Harry’s cock. Harry squeezed his eyes shut as he felt Louis press down on top of him. _Fuck._ Fuck he felt so fuck good and he hadn’t even _moved._ He reached up, eyes focused on Louis’ eyes and cupped his cheek, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life, Lou. Fuck you’re so beautiful.”

Louis rocked forward then, a surprised gasp falling from his throat as Harry’s tip hit against his prostate. Harry tried to think of anything that wouldn’t have him spilling his load into Louis the second he moved again, but fuck. He was just so _in_ it. He’d never been more present in a moment than he was when he was making love to Louis. He couldn’t put his mind anywhere but on those bright blue eyes that were staring down at him.

“Fuck,” Louis said as he eased up and then back down on Harry, clenching around his cock and making Harry’s body wild with desire. God. Nothing had ever, ever felt this good. Not that there had been anything to complain about all the times Louis had been inside of _him,_ but this was making Harry actually lose his goddamn mind. This was tossing him over some kind of ledge and Louis was keen to follow. Finally keen to give in to his true desires. 

Harry watched it then, watched as Louis broke open completely, a fat tear running down his cheek. He was breathing heavily and a sob escaped his throat. Harry removed his hand from it’s place on Louis’ hip and wound his fingers through Louis’, squeezing tightly.

“Fuck,” breathed Louis, fresh tears making a trail down his gorgeous cheekbones, and Harry couldn’t take it. He could barely take it before but now Louis was breaking right there on top of him and he’d never ever been this close to another person in his life. He felt Louis’ pain, felt it burning in his chest.

“Shh, baby I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

“It’s— _Harry_ —it’s…its never been like this. It’s not like this with everyone else, you know? Only you, Harry, god. Only you.”

“Shh,” Harry repeated, kissing the back of Louis’ hand and tightening the grip on their still-clasped fingers, “I know baby. Me too.”

“No, it’s— _its never_ _been like this,”_ argued Louis, his fingernails digging into Harry’s chest as he clenched around Harry, rocking up and down relentlessly and Harry couldn’t hold it back. He was right on the edge, the feeling of losing control becoming more and more pronounced and he gripped onto Louis’ hand.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis cried, just as Harry’s hand wrapped around Louis’ tender, neglected cock, giving it a harsh tug. He wanted Louis to fall off the ledge with him. Wanted Louis to paint his stomach with his come just as Harry finished inside of him.

Louis’ made some sort of stuttering sound as he closed his eyes against the feeling of the much needed friction on his dick. New tears fell then and Harry watched as Louis fell to pieces on top of him, a harsh sob falling from his throat.

“Fuck, Harry, I love you. I’m so fucking in love with you.”

Of all of the words in the English language that he imagined hearing in that moment, those three placed in that order were at the bottom of the list. And _yes._ Yes, it made so much sense. Harry felt himself come apart inside of Louis just as Louis rocked back. Harry tried to ride through it, hand still clasped around Louis’ cock. He tugged at it, once more, twice more, three times more before he felt Louis’ come hot on his stomach and _oh my god._ He was crying now, too. He was crying as he started up at Louis and fuck. Louis had just said that. Those words had just fallen from his tear, soaked lips and if they never ever left this bed again it would be too soon.

Louis fell forward on him, then. Slowly, he slid off of Harry’s dick and into Harry’s arms. Harry kissed the tears that were somehow still falling from Louis’ eyes and pressed him against his chest.

“I’m so fucking in love with you, Louis,” he told him as their lips met and their tongues tangled in a slow slide as the New York sun started to make it’s way through the opened window.

Louis loved him. Louis Tomlinson loved Harry Styles and Harry had no choice but to love him fiercely and without apprehension and he just _had_ to make this work. He just _had_ to make himself into the person that Louis deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Instagram @feels.like.home01
> 
> Next:  
> I hope you can see the shape that I'm in  
> While he's touching your skin  
> He's right where I should, where I should be  
> But you're making me bleed


	6. Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back...back again. 
> 
> IM SORRY. I'm so sorry this took for-fucking-ever for me to finish. I've somehow survived my first month of uni. Now I'm heading into my reading week and I have 2 assignments and two mid-terms about to ruin my life....so I said to myself, 'you know how you should procrastinate this time? POST A CHAPTER.'
> 
> So, here I am. with a humble 12,700 word offering. 
> 
> Hopefully its worth the loooong wait.

_I hope you can see the shape that I'm in_

_While he's touching your skin_

_He's right where I should, where I should be_

_But you're making me bleed_

 

Louis’ eyes fluttered open, daylight streaming in from the curtains they never bothered to close. His eyes flashed to the alarm clock on the bedside table. 9:30. It was only bloody 6:30 in Vegas, so there was no reason on earth for him to be awake. No reason at all…save for the soft kisses he was feeling against the back of his neck. _Harry_. He relaxed into his pillow, sinking into the feeling of Harry’s soft lips against his skin. He was all wrapped up in Harry. Harry’s leg sprawled over him and his arms holding Louis as close to his chest as he could possibly be…and there was something different hanging in the air. There was something different in the way that Harry was holding onto him…

And then it struck Louis. The rawness of his rushed confession as he’d ridden Harry to their mutual climax. He’s been holding it back for too long. He’d been holding it back from even himself and it had shocked the hell out of him when he’d heard the words…only to realize it was _him_ that had said them. Tears had poured from his eyes and if it had been anyone else in the world beneath him, he might have been mortified at just how vulnerable he’d been—but it had been Harry. It had been Harry, who’s own eyes had filled with tears as he held Louis close and whispered that, yeah, he loved Louis too.

And now, if things already hadn’t been an utter mess, well, now it was worse. Much worse, because now it was all out there. Louis had nothing left to hold back, nothing left to _protect_ because it was all out there. Maybe he should have been more terrified at that prospect, but that was pretty difficult given the man he was in love with. It was impossible not to give every bit of trust he had within him to Harry.

Especially when his lips were grazing over all the most sensitive spots on Louis’ neck, when his breath was hot in his ear. Louis was powerless against Harry in all the best possible ways.

“I love you,” Harry said against Louis’ skin, branding him with the heat from his lungs. Louis was absolutely certain that the words would be burned into his skin forever and there was nothing more beautiful and poetic in the world than that. Or, so he thought. Harry’s words, though, well, they topped Louis’ hopelessly cheesy thoughts.

“Louis William Tomlinson,” he breathed, pausing only to lay a fresh trail of kisses behind Louis ear, “you sweet, sweet creature. You lover of kiwis and scotch. Son of Jay and Mark. Brother of Lottie, Fizzy, Daisy and Phoebe. Most talented song writer on the planet. Lover of cheap American cigarettes. Doncaster rovers fan. Brilliant kisser and best shag of my life—I love you. I love you an impossible amount. I never had a chance, you know?” Harry held him tighter, their bodies pressed as close as they could possibly be without becoming a single entity—which, granted, didn’t sound so bad to Louis at all. “I didn’t have a chance in the world at stopping this. My heart knew yours before I even had the chance to decide I wanted to know you. I never bloody stood a chance, Louis William, I never did. I was made for you—I was made because your heart called out for me and I got pulled into this crazy mess of life so that we could meet. Life has been so cruel to us, Louis, but it couldn’t stop us from getting here. It couldn’t stop you from becoming a part of me. No cruelty in the universe could stop us from fitting together. You’re the part of me that’s been missing for my entire life. We were made to find each other, Louis. It was inevitable and I have never been such a fan of losing complete control. I have never wanted anything like I want you, Louis Tomlinson. I will love you for the rest of my life and that’s not even close to long enough. There isn’t enough trips around that flaming ball of gas—there isn’t enough space inside infinity for me to ever even come close to conveying how I feel about you.”

Louis’ heart was hammering in his chest because Harry’s words were beautiful and heart-felt and overwhelming and he would never, ever, be able to come close enough to saying what Harry had just said.

“So I’ll just tell you this—every day for as long as we live—I love you. Three words seem too weak to carry the emotion I have for you, dear, sweet, Louis, but it’s all I have.”

And just like that the room was silent again. It was the morning of their fifteenth day together and dammit, his mother was right. 10 years of hiding from anything that might have been real and all it had taken was two weeks with the right person. The right person with all the wrong things in the way—but none of that mattered because Louis had poured out his heart, and even though it seemed like it should be the opposite, Harry’s cup wasn’t full. It hadn’t harmed Louis to give himself to Harry. Somehow Louis didn’t feel empty, like he’d given himself without receiving anything in return—no, instead he’d received everything in return. Everything he’d ever dared to want was pressed right against his back. Every word he’d never let himself hope for was pressed against his neck and every dream he’d ever had, had manifested itself into the shape of a man—of a beautiful, soft, funny and kind man and Louis was just lucky he got any part of this. Even with the complications surrounding everything…it was worth it. It was so worth the way the rest of the world had disappeared for them.

Louis felt himself smile as Harry kissed the back of his neck again. Slowly, he turned himself over until their noses brushed. His smile was still set in place and it was complimented nicely by the grin on Harry’s face. He didn’t have to think twice about parting his lips when Harry’s lips found his. They snogged casually, without a purpose, tongues tangling and toes curling against each other’s for a few moments. Finally, Louis pulled away, gasping slightly (it seemed like even when the kissing was casual, Harry stole his breath). Harry smiled at him, hand squeezing Louis’ ass, where a dull ache still resided. Louis could get used to this whole thing.

“Seems you were up early, Styles,” Louis commented, brushing Harry’s curls back, fingers lingering on his stunning jawline.

“Mmm,” Harry muttered, closing his eyes against Louis’ touch.

“You’re a bloody sap, you know that about yourself, right?”

Harry moved closer, pressing his nose against Louis’ neck. He nuzzled in and breathed out a happy sigh (it was interesting to Louis that he was attuned enough to know the subtleties of Harry’s sighs), “I just—“ he paused a moment, squeezing Louis tighter against him, “well, I just mean it. I meant all of it. I just wanted you to know.”

Louis pressed his lips against Harry’s hair, stopping to breathe in his scent, “I hope you know that I’ll never be able to come close to saying what you just did, but that doesn’t devalue how I feel about you, Harry. I meant what I said.”

He felt Harry’s lips smile against his neck, “and what did you say again?”

Louis laughed, speaking softly, “I love you, tosser.”

Harry pulled back to place a kiss to Louis’ lips and smiled brightly at him, “I love you, too, Lou.”

 

…

 

“So how do you know Liam, anyway?” Harry asked as they boarded the elevator to Liam’s apartment.

Louis was disgusting, really and truly. Somehow he’d become a different person, clingy and gross and everything that he’d never thought himself capable of being. They were alone in the elevator, so Louis reached out and twined his pinky finger with Harry’s. The only thing that made his pathetic display a little more tolerable was the way that Harry’s face lit up at the gesture.

“We interned together in London years ago. Somehow we both ended up in America. He’s one of my go-to people at all those industry bullshit parties. He’s a solid lad. He’s about the music, you know? Not about the bullshit. You’ll like him.”

“Mmm,” Harry hummed his agreement, yawning slightly.

Louis bumped his hip against Harry’s, “now’s not the time for sleep, Styles. I need you at your best tonight. I have plans for us.”

“Plans?” Harry asked, perking up, “what kind of plans?”

“Surprise plans,” Louis teased as the elevator chimed at Liam’s floor.

Before the doors opened, Harry pressed a kiss to Louis’ cheek, “I can’t wait,” he whispered as Louis reluctantly let go of his hand.

They walked down the hall until they reached Liam’s flat, Louis knocking on the door. Liam pulled it open almost instantly and quickly collected Louis in a tight hug. Jesus. Liam was firm—like hugging a washboard. Louis laughed into the gesture, returning the hug with equal vigour.

“Tommo!” Liam said as he pulled back, a youthful grin stuck on his face.

“Payno,” Louis responded, “it’s been too long.”

Liam nodded, “haven’t seen your pretty face since your birthday—when you insisted that it wasn’t going to harm anyone to puke off your 7th floor balcony. I’m still waiting on a fruit basket from all your downstairs neighbours. They owe me.”

Louis laughed heartily, jabbing his elbow into Liam’s side. Sometimes Louis forgot just how much he missed people until he saw them in the flesh. It was a horrible quality of his.

“Missed you, too, you twat,” Louis turned his attention to Harry then, who was smiling pleasantly next to him as he watched the exchange, “and for the record, he’s lying, Styles. I know how to hold my liquor. I’d never puke off a balcony, I do have _some_ dignity.”

Liam reached out his hand for Harry to shake, “Harry, it’s so good to meet you, I’m Liam.”

Harry nodded and shook Liam’s hand, “for the record, I believe your side of the story. Louis seems like exactly the sort who’d have no qualms with puking off a balcony.”

“Traitor,” Louis hissed, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

Harry just laughed, just a bubbly sort of giggle that made Louis’ insides flutter. Maybe he’d gotten too caught up in staring and too much time had passed because he was reminded of the third person standing there when Liam cleared his throat.

“Well, come on in lads,” Liam said, his eyes not leaving Louis’. There was a sort of question there and Louis didn’t really want to think to hard about what that question might be.

They followed Liam into his living room, Louis trying to keep a reasonable distance from Harry, but Harry kept seeming to drift closer. Harry was much worse at this whole thing than Louis was. He didn’t know how to hide anything. Louis was going to have to teach him the ways if they ever had any hope of pulling off this ‘friends’ charade for the next little bit.

Harry made himself comfortable on the couch, looking up to Louis, a smile on his lips. Louis returned it before he felt Liam clap him on the back, “have a seat, Tommo.”

“I wasn’t going to stay,” he said, “I had some…other things I was going to take care of. Thought I’d give Harry a chance to talk to someone other than me. Feels like we’ve been cooped up in my studio for ages.”

It was a lie. Obviously. That was the last thing it felt like…

“Right,” said Liam, “well, why don’t we have a smoke outside, catch up a bit before you go.”

Louis nodded immediately. He hadn’t seen Liam since…right, his birthday. His 30th birthday and that had been last December. Somehow it had been nearly 9 months since he’d seen Liam. It was a wonder that anyone, especially his family, put up with his tendencies for distance. He was horrible.

“Harry, would you like to make us some tea?” Liam asked, pointing to his kitchen, “kettle’s on the stove and mugs are in the cupboard. Tea’s on the counter. Thanks mate!”

Harry scrambled from his seat in the direction of the kitchen, always eager to please everyone around him. Louis chest felt tight with his fondness. He needed to regain his sense of self. He needed to stop getting so caught up in every tiny movement Harry made. He focused on following Liam to his balcony, trying to shake Harry from his thoughts—HA! What a joke that was.

Liam had barely shut the door before he was assaulting Louis with questions that were completely unsafe.

“Alright, spill it.”

Louis reached into his pocket, pulling out his cigarettes and putting one between his lips in a pathetic excuse to bide time. He fiddled with his lighter, which had apparently chosen the least opportune moment to stop working. Liam sighed, watching Louis struggle to light his cigarette and stepped closer, reaching out the flame of his lighter. Louis inhaled the smoke slowly, in no way wanting to answer Liam’s question, because what the fuck was he even on about?

“I mean Harry,” Liam said, taking a drag of his own smoke, “spill whatever you’ve got going on there because you’re acting weird.”

“I beg your pardon,” Louis started, “but there is literally nothing to tell you. His label sent him to me to write for 3 weeks and I figured you’d get on with him so I set up this writing thing with you. That’s it. That’s the story.”

Liam laughed, a full out chuckle, “lying to me only makes the whole thing seem fishier. You’re acting like you’re 12 year olds. That lad can barely handle being an inch away from you. Since when are you one to mix business with pleasure?”

“I’m not,” Louis clipped the words, annoyance evident in his voice.

“Oh come off it, Tommo, you’re one of my best mates. Even if you’re going to tell me nothing’s happened, it’s pretty obvious that you want it to. You’re into him. Can’t say I’d blame you, he’s fit.”

“Jesus, Liam, would you shut up?” Louis sucked harder on his cigarette, wanting this conversation to die as fast as possible, please and thank you, “nothing is going on. Harry is happily married to some girl and I’m happily married to my career. End of the fucking story. I’ve gotta go.”

With that, Louis threw his smoke onto the ground and stomped on it, rushing back inside. He paused at the entrance of the kitchen, listening as Liam struggled with the screen door in his attempt to follow him. Louis spoke quietly, not wanting to share his and Harry’s happy little bubble with the rest of the world.

“Listen, H, I’m gonna come pick you up around five, okay? I’ve just got a few things to take care of, but I’ll be back. You and Liam will get on well. Try to bang out another future number one and I’ll see you when I’m back.”

Harry smiled at him as he poured hot water into two mugs, nodding. “Okay, see you at 5.”

Louis tentatively returned the smile as Liam approached. He turned quickly, making for his escape. Just as his hand touched the door knob, he turned to see Harry standing in the entrance of the kitchen.

“Hey, Lou?” Harry’s voice was soft and _fuck._ If Liam didn’t already have his suspicions, that tone of voice would certainly have ignited them. What was Harry doing? Didn’t he want to protect them from the rest of the world like Louis instinctively knew he had to?

“Styles?”

Liam was standing right between them now, his eyes on Louis as they both waited for Harry’s words.

“Can’t wait.”

Harry breathed the words into the room and a hush fell across them. There was too much meaning there. Too much hope. Too much fondness and dammit. _Dammit, Harry._

Louis settled for a quick nod before he turned on his heel to open the door.

“I’ll walk you to the lift,” it was Liam’s voice and there wasn’t a hint of it being a question, so Louis just nodded again as Liam pulled the front door closed behind him.

Louis trudged forward, his whole body feeling stiff with the weight of Liam’s question weighing him down. He tried to out-run Liam, but it was senseless. He felt Liam’s hand tug his wrist, pulling him to a stop.

“Louis, stop,” he said, his voice holding no venom, no warning. Part of Louis expected a lecture. If he’d already guessed what was going on…well he must have already been painting a pretty nasty picture of Louis’ morals in his mind, “I’m sorry.”

That was about the last thing that Louis had expected to hear Liam say. He gave him enough pause to turn around and meet Liam’s eyes.

“Seriously,” Liam insisted, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to over-step anything, you know that’s not the kind of person I am…I just—I thought I saw something. You seem…happy. Lighter than you usually are, and maybe that doesn’t have anything to do with him…but I swear to god Louis, I could have lit a bonfire with the spark between the two of you—do you— _do you actually not feel that_?”

Liam’s expression showed genuine concern. _Yes I fucking feel it_ Louis wanted to scream. _Yes I fucking feel it every second of every day._ He needed to lie to protect himself—to protect himself _and_ Harry, since Harry apparently couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. Louis was unsure of which.

“There’s no spark between Harry and I, Liam. We’re colleagues. Same as you and I, and I haven’t tried to shag you yet, have I? Now get back in there and write a bloody song. Do something useful. I’ll see you later on.”

Liam wasn’t quite done pushing his boundaries just yet, “you mean later on, when you pick Harry up for your date.”

“Drop it, Liam,” Louis warned.

Thankfully this time Liam listened. Louis let out a sigh of relief as he heard the door to Liam’s apartment click shut.

Fuck.

 

…

 

Louis marched through the doors of the supermarket closest to Liam’s flat in a sort of daze. It had literally been a 60 second blip of banter—mostly between himself and _Liam_ —that had Liam cornering Louis on the balcony and asking questions. Fucking hell they were doomed. Louis was still trying his hardest not to address the quick statement his mother had mad the other day...but she was on another continent and somehow she’d guessed it was Harry from just looking at a picture. He wasn’t really fooling anyone, was he? At least not the people he was closest to.

That was a pretty terrifying thought.

But, he supposed, the important part was that they _did_ appear to be fooling Caitlin. She was so blissfully unaware as she had arranged activities just the three of them—like it wasn’t the most awkward thing imaginable for louis.

But it wasn’t like he could pretend to have an excuse to get out of it. _I’d rather not stay at your flat in London because I’m shagging your husband and seem to have fallen completely on my ass in love with him. Sorry. Maybe next time._

Louis tried to drag his mind out of the gutter and focus on the task at hand. The task at hand should have completely antiquated his thought pattern, but he wasn’t having quite as much success with that as he hoped.

The _plan_ , before Liam has so rudely interrupted it by asking Louis the dumbest question on earth ( _do you really not feel that?),_ was to properly romance Harry. The plan was to prove that even though he was a sarcastic dick 98% of the time, he really and truly had meant exactly what he’d said while sitting on Harry’s dick the previous night. His stupid plan was to romance Harry until he forgot he even _had_ a wife or a career and accidentally stayed at louis’ flat for the next...65-70 years or so. The _plan_ was to prove that Louis was going to make it worth Harry’s while. To prove that he was the right choice, that he could properly love Harry from his next world tour all the way through to their first night in some old folks home.

Because... Louis wanted that. He wanted that pretty badly. So badly in fact that he had been living his life since he’d walked off the plane at JFK without even sparing a second thought to his work. Usually he’d be humming melodies into his phones voice recorder and jotting down lyrics in his notes until he could get his hands on some kind of instrument. Usually, he’d be reading work emails and checking music charts. Usually he’d be analyzing the artists on the radio, trying to imagine what song he could write for them to sing next. Usually Louis entire freaking existence hinged on his work...

But right then, as he made his way down the aisle with bottles of wine, he realized he was...relaxing? He was kind of taking a step back from the whole thing to just dedicate some time to someone who really freaking deserved it and it felt good. He felt light and free in a way he hadn’t let himself feel in a long time.

He picked up a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and smiled to himself as he studied the label. What a foolish thing to be caught up in. Louis’ entire life was a fucking disaster right now and all he could think about, the only thing he could focus on, was making sure he made tonight perfect for Harry.

_Because he loved him._

The word shuffled around in his head, making itself very familiar with his neurotransmitters (dopamine and Harry got on pretty fantastically in Louis’ brain). Louis tossed the bottle of wine into the basket and set out to find the best olives the supermarket had to offer.

 

It was somewhere in between sampling yet another type of Gouda (mmm, cheese, it tasted like cheese—just like the other 5) and tossing a random one into the basket, that Louis heard his phone ringing. He gave the young girl at the counter a smile before he started walking away, patting his pockets to find his phone. Eventually he found it, struggling with the basket in one arm as he looked down at it to read the caller ID. _Caitlin Suri_ flashed across the screen. Suri? Interesting...

He slid his finger across the screen and pressed the phone to his ear, “hello?”

“What are you doing in New York?”

Louis nearly choked on his tongue as he processed the question. It felt like an accusation. She’d come in to the conversation, guns blazing, right after he’d fought with Liam. The whole thing was unsettling to say the least and since when did Caitlin have his phone number?

“Uh,” he searched the rafters of his brain for something quick to respond with, “since when is your name Caitlin Suri?”

Louis listened as her laugh trickled through the phone into his ear and he hated that he was now smiling despite himself.

“Since...I don’t know, the first 22 years of my life or so? I must not have changed my name with my phone company—but whatever. Point is, what are you doing in New York?”

It was easy with her. So easy that Louis almost hated it. Almost.

“Strictly speaking—nothing. I’m genuinely doing nothing in New York right now. It’s fantastic.”

“You absolute knob, I mean what are you and Harry doing in New York? I thought you were meant to be writing an album. My father is going to lose all faith in you two if you keep fucking off to other states.”

“He is writing,” Louis argued, “he’s with a mate of mine. I thought they’d get on so I suggested we come here to write something.”

“Weird. You guys have strange writing methods. First North Carolina, now New York. I hope all this jet setting is going to make for one fantastic album.”

“It will,” Louis said through gritted teeth as he inspected a pint of blackberries and added it to his basket. “Why are you calling me, anyway?”

“Well, I’m bored and Harry’s busy. You’re the next best thing.”

“I’m flattered, really.”

The last thing in the world Louis wanted to deal with while he planned some romantic gesture was Harry’s wife, but in a strange way it was simple to separate Caitlin from the bad thing he and Harry were doing. Maybe it was the genuine joy he found in their unlikely friendship. He wasn’t sure.

“You should be. I’ve promoted you above a bunch of other people, you know. You’re like my second best mate at this point.”

“Second. Ouch. You sure know how to hit where it hurts. Second is just the first loser, you know.”

Louis held the phone against his shoulder with his ear as he walked toward the check out line, his basket full.

Caitlin laughed in response, “Harry is my first best friend. Probably always will be. Sorry I can’t offer you that full promotion, but I’m sure you understand. Harry’s a shoe-in for best mate status. I bet you’ve already promoted him yourself.”

Nah. Nah, no way. Sure, he and Harry got on as mates just fine but he was more. Louis had never ever looked at one of his friends the way he looked at Harry. There was a constant undercurrent of desire that burned with a ferocity that he wasn’t used to. There was no way Harry was his best friend. There was no way he could class him as anything less than the centre of his entire freaking being.

“So Harry’s your best friend AND your husband? Sounds fishy. You don’t have many friends, so you?”

Caitlin laughed, “sod off, it’s possible for someone to be more than one thing, you know.”

Louis made a sound of agreement under his breath as he started to unload the basket onto the conveyor belt.

“Where are you anyway? What’s all that beeping?” Caitlin asked with a voice that sounded only moderately interested.

“Supermarket. Just grabbing some things. What are you doing? Don’t you have some fancy job you ought to be doing? Isn’t that why you’re in LA?”

Caitlin snorted, “I’m a scout. Not many shows playing in the bloody morning in LA in case you didn’t know. I’m free most of the day and that leads me to great boredom, which is where you come in.”

“Oh yeah?” Louis asked as he tapped his debit card and collected his bags.

“Yeah.”

And then the line was quiet as Louis politely smiled at the cashier and made his way to the exit. He breathed in the cool New York air, appreciating that even though he loved Vegas, there were still places in the world with actual seasons. Seasons like the ones he missed in England. What he wouldn’t give for an overcast day, his hair too frizzy to even bother with and the cold nipping at his fingers just enough to remind him he was human. Yeah. He missed home. He missed it a lot more than he had accounted for. Maybe it was all this free time. Maybe that’s why he’d originally started avoiding down-time. Before he could finish his thoughts, Caitlin’s voice broke through again.

“So how is he, anyway?”

“Hmm?” Louis raised his voice in question.

“Harry. How is he with you?”

Weird question. Red flags. _Back the fuck up_ because Louis didn’t want to answer this in any way shape or form.

“He’s...fine?”

Caitlin exhaled in annoyance, “no I just mean, like, I don’t know how much you guys talk or whatever, but it seems like he’s opened up to you quite a bit...and he...he struggles with things. He struggles with letting himself be happy or something. I don’t know. I just worry about him when he’s away for so long because I can’t keep an eye on it. I don’t know that he’s always 100% happy with where life ended up.”

Oh Jesus. This was some best friend shit. Caitlin was tearing open their life and letting Louis have the tiniest glance at it and he wasn’t sure if it made things better or if it made them worse.

“Yeah,” breathed Louis as he stopped outside of the hotel they were staying at to light a cigarette, “Yeah, I see what you’re saying and no, he seems... good.”

Caitlin seemed to accept that answer, as vague as it was.

“Good. Well, yeah good. Seems like the two of you get on well and I’m glad of that. Like I said, he doesn’t have many people in his corner, like proper friends and all that.”

“Aside from you, of course. His best mate,” Louis said the words in a teasing tone, eliciting a laugh from Caitlin. He took another drag of his cigarette, eyeing a lady walking past him in what appeared to be knickers and a bra. She looked colder than Louis’ fingers felt.

“You know, try as you might to make fun of me for that, I’m pretty set in my ways. Suppose you’ve got a better choice for best mate for yourself, then?”

“Sure do—me mum. My dad fucked off when my youngest sisters were babies and I pretty much helped her raise the lot of them. We’ve always been best friends. No shame in being a mama’s boy.”

Caitlin laughed, “my mum died when I was, like, 3. I never really got to know her as you can imagine. My gran stepped in though, and she always told me my whole life that the secret to happiness was to marry your best friend. She said every day is better when you get to wake up next to the person you laugh the most with.”

Louis didn’t want to be having this conversation. He didn’t want to be talking about Harry and Caitlin’s marriage. He didn’t need more reasons to feel like the scum of the earth. Alternately, he also didn’t need more reasons to reassure himself that he was a better fit for Harry in just about every way. He didn’t want to feel like he had a right to hurt Caitlin just because they’d been too young and pressured into making a decision they couldn’t have possibly been prepared for.

His heart really wasn’t into the teasing her like maybe he should have. It was a million other places. He both wanted this conversation to end immediately and wished that Caitlin was there. There was something about her that kept pulling him in and it didn’t make any fucking sense, but he _wanted_ to be her friend. For some fucked up reason he wanted to be the person that she called up in the middle of the day when she was bored and needed some solid banter.

“that’s,” _bullshit._ Louis wanted to tell her more than anything in the world that it was complete and utter bullshit, that there had to be something more. That there had to be something better than being best friends, but who was he to say that? He’d only had is own eyes opened to what ever that _something more_ was mere days ago. His confession of love was still fresh, his tongue still learning how to properly form the words that matched up with that fiery heat and contrasting overwhelming need to be _there_ , to laugh, to play, to kiss. He was only just figuring the whole thing out and who the hell was he to tell Caitlin, _Caitlin fucking Styles,_ that she deserved more than that? Who was he to say a fucking word to this person, who’s life he was working so fucking hard to dissemble, a single fucking thing?

Of course she deserved more. Harry was her best friend, the person that made her laugh the most in the world, but that wasn’t enough. That wasn’t all she deserved to have. But how could louis ever have a right to tell her a single fucking thing about how she ought to live her life?

“That’s... I think that’s a really pretty ambition.”

The line was quiet a moment and Louis stomped out his cigarette and cleared his throat twice, thinking he must have said something that had alerted Caitlin to the train wreck Louis was creating around all the cracks in hers and Harry’s relationship. Jesus. When had he become so small? When had he allowed himself to be little more than a weed, growing between the cracks of something bigger, something stronger. He was like some kind of engineering parasite, leeching on to something pretty and meaningful because he lacked the skills to create something _better._

He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Harry or Caitlin. He didn’t deserve to pretend like he had any right to speak to her about her marriage.

“My dad never dated anyone after my mom died,” she said suddenly, “he said there wasn’t a point. He said he’d been lucky enough to find the person that had completed him and he didn’t want to pretend he could settle for anything less. Said he was just as complete on his own just because he met her, married her and got to love and be loved by her.”

Louis racked his brain for something to say, but he was drawing a blank, leaning stupidly next to the front door of the hotel where he planned on shagging her husband over and over that night. Just. He didn’t think it was possible to feel like anything less than a dirty old bucket of mouldy mop water, but then she delivered the final blow.

“I think that was all my dad wanted for me, was to find someone that completed me, but I never felt like I was missing anything. I just—it’s almost like that kind of love is rare, you know? Like the kind of love people talk about in the movies, not everyone gets that. Most of us just get to marry our best friend and laugh every day, and I guess I’m just lucky I got that.”

...

 

Louis sat at the desk in the corner of the tiny hotel room, his knee bouncing up and down. He was nervous... or disgusted by himself or, something. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about any of the things he was currently feeling. Talking to Caitlin had been just a bit too much for him to handle. He supposed it was probably the universe reminding him how terrible he was. He really had no right to be swept away in the fantasy that he and Harry were real, that they had a right to be real. He supposed it was only fair that he’d be dragged back down to earth.

He was scribbling lyrics out onto a piece of paper. The song probably wasn’t for Harry. It couldn’t be, really. The words were too obvious. Caitlin, Harry, anyone who cared to look would immediately know what the words meant and Louis couldn’t have that. He couldn’t risk his dirty laundry being seen by the world. He couldn’t do that to Harry. Harry could barely handle the fame he had now, who would Louis be to open the world’s eyes to a scandal like them? It would break Harry and Louis wanted to do anything but that.

 

_I'm selfish, I know_

_But I don't ever want to see you with him_

_I'm selfish, I know_

_I told you, but I know you never listen_

 

_I hope you can see the shape that I'm in_

_While he's touching your skin_

_He's right where I should, where I should be_

_But you're making me bleed_

 

Louis couldn’t take the silence of the room. Something was happening deep inside of him and it was eating away at him. He couldn’t go on like this.

He reached across the desk and picked up his phone. It was barely noon. There was still so many hours left until he was due to pick up Harry. He didn’t know what he was going to do with himself, but with everything, with Caitlin just hovering there, making her presence known... Louis felt lonely. Lonely in a way that he’d never felt and he couldn’t fucking stand it. He pressed the home button on his phone and saw a text from Harry. Curious, he unlocked his phone and pulled it up. It was nothing more than three kitten emojis and it brought an instant smile to Louis’ face. How did harry do that? How did he just keep doing that? Louis wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay at all and the second that Harry wasn’t there reminding him where he belonged, he constantly felt the world slipping from his grasp, and then just like that Harry pulled him back in.

He quickly tapped out a reply.

 

**_Louis:_ **

**_What? Does Liam have a cat now or something? That’s a very vague text message, Styles._ **

 

Almost instantly, he saw the three dots that told him Harry was replying.

 

**_Harry:_ **

**_No, was just thinking of you. About how you’re like a kitten and I want to snuggle you. Miss you xx_ **

 

**_Louis:_ **

**_Christ Styles, you’re lucky I’m secure in my manhood enough not to be insulted by you calling me a kitten. You’re a hopeless weirdo._ **

 

**_Louis:_ **

**_But I miss you, too._ **

 

Louis received two kitten emojis and two hearts back this time and he smiled down at his phone. His whole life was fucking ridiculous and he needed to start figuring it the fuck out before Harry left. He needed to think about what was supposed to happen next.

Without much thought, he found himself dialling his mum’s house number. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hello darling,” he chimed, and oh, god Louis missed her.

“Hey mum,” he was smiling at just the sound of her voice.

“Where are you, love? It’s quiet,” she noted.

“Yeah, uh, I’m in New York. In a hotel. Just visiting Liam and work stuff, you know. Is Felicite there?”

“Yeah, she just got home from work. You want to speak to her, not your old mum?”

Louis smiled, “always want to talk to you, mum,” he promised, “I just owe her an apology.”

“Hang on one second, sweetheart.”

Louis heard some shuffling as his mother made her way up the stairs. The twins must have been playing with the dogs somewhere because Louis picked up on their laughter as the dogs barked playfully. God, he missed the chaos. The girls weren’t even little anymore, but somehow the house still sounded like it always sounded. There had been a time in his life where Louis had resented how loud and present his family was, but now all he wanted to do was somehow press them closer. He missed every stupid thing about that house, from the dogs to the broken, hard armchair all the way to the freezer full of ready meals his culinarily challenged mother always kept on hand. And the smell. God, Louis missed the smell of home. He missed being wrapped in the presence of his mother and late-night chats at the kitchen table once all the girls had gone to bed.

He was pulled back to reality when he heard Felicite’s voice on the other end of his phone.

“Louis?” She asked softly.

“Hey, love. How are you? What are you up to?”

“Just got home from work, was about to help mom cook something halfway decent for supper. You know how it is, either someone helps or it’s frozen pasta for the fifth night in a row.”

Louis chuckled, “I don’t miss that. What are you making?”

“Thought maybe stuffed chicken and your famous mash.”

Louis sighed deeply, “look, Fizz, I’m sorry about the other day.”

“Nah, Louis, it’s fine. It was my fault for overreacting. I know you’re busy, I just get fed up with it sometimes because I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, love. So much,” he hesitated for a moment, but he couldn’t back out. He’d made his decision, “so I just wanted you to be the first to hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“Gonna come home for Christmas this year. I think it’s about time. Prepare to be spoiled absolutely rotten because I have a couple of years to make up for.”

“Really?” He could hear the smile in her voice and that was really all he could possibly have asked for. There was nothing better in the world than the feeling that he had finally (finally, finally) done something right by his sisters, “and you have nothing to make up for, Louis, we’ll just be happy to see you.”

“Put mum back on?” He asked softly.

There was more rustling and then his mum’s voice came back on the line just as he heard Fizzy calling out to Lottie. Louis smiled to himself. The world sort of felt like a way less horrifying place with the realization that at least, even in the middle of hurricane Harry, his family was starting to fall back into place. Because fuck it. Even if his life was chaotic and busy and the only thing happening in his head was _harryharryharry_ , the least he could do was try to hold it together for the people that loved him even when he was least deserving.

“Hi baby,” god Louis could get lost in his mum’s voice. It was ridiculous that even at 30 the only thing he wanted was a really good hug from her. December was so far away.

“I’m coming home for Christmas,” he announced.

“Good, good! Louis that’s so great. The girls are going to be so happy. I’m so happy. I can’t wait to see you, baby.”

Louis was quiet for a moment, his hand buried in his fringe as he stared down at the lyrics scribbled across the hotel notepad.

“My life is a fucking mess, mum.”

She sighed deeply, her voice soft as it always was when he needed her, “is it Har—the person you told me about?”

Louis smiled despite himself. His mother was no fool. She knew exactly what he would and would not admit. Name dropping Harry wasn’t going to help the situation at all.

“Um...not so much him as it is...her. I met her. I like her. I just got off the fucking phone with her and it’s not right, what I’m doing. It’s definitely not right getting mixed in with this whole thing...but—“

“What’s the but?”

Louis groaned. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say, “I never wanted it, you know? I gave up on the idea of love a long time ago because I didn’t believe in it. I didn’t think there was ever going to be someone who’d change my mind and I just think it’s really fucking unfair that this is how it happened. Do you know how badly I wish I could take him home to you and the girls?”

His mum sighed softly, “I know it probably seems like it isn’t going to get easier, and maybe it won’t for awhile, but if he’s the right person like you say he is, you’re gonna figure it out.”

“It doesn’t feel like it sometimes... I get so caught up with how bad everything is and then the second I’m alone with him it just disappears. How is that even possible? How can I just forget that I’m hurting people?”

“Louis, darling, I think the important part here is that you remember that even though it feels like everything is at stake, you are the person with the least to lose,” she paused for a moment, “having said that, I also think it’s important that you keep your eyes open. You could get hurt without a whole lot of effort on his part, and maybe you think he won’t hurt you... but baby this is a messy situation. I support you and whatever your decision is, but I also recognize that things could go pretty wrong pretty easily. The last thing in the world I want for you is to get hurt. I just hope you’re able to recognize when it’s time for you to walk away.”

Louis sighed, he knew his mother’s heart was in the right place. Of course she wanted to protect him. It only made sense. Maybe, objectively, he _was_ the one of the three of them with the least to lose, but it didn’t _feel_ that way.

“Yeah, mum. Thanks. I’m gonna go now. Talk to you soon.”

“Okay. One more thing, though, baby,” she said softly, “I’d really like to meet him.”

Louis sighed, frustration running rampant in his body. “I’d like that, too, but I don’t know how I can make that happen.”

“Just give it some time, baby.”

Louis exhaled though his nose, “yeah, okay, mum. Love you.”

 

The second he hung up the phone the pen was back in his hand and he scribbled on the hotel stationary more words that he didn’t think he’d ever show to Harry.

 

_Tempted, you know_

_Apologies are never gonna fix this_

_I'm empty, I know_

_Promises are broken like the stitches_

_I hope you can see the shape I've been in_

_While he's touching your skin_

_This thing upon me, howls like a beast_

_You flower, you feast._

 

_…_

 

Louis had successfully wasted his day. Well, if you could consider falling into some horrible pit of bad Netflix documentaries “a successful wasted day”, then, yeah. He’d succeeded. His talk with his mum had left the tips of his fingers tingling and the air in the tiny hotel room suddenly felt stale. But there was no way he could leave. He was too edgy. He was too caught up in warnings, in Caitlin. It was 4:45 and his alarm was screaming at him that it was time to leave to get Harry. It was time to leave the confines of reality and pick up his dream boy.

It was time to face Liam and all of his stupid intuition. He hoped with everything in him that Liam hadn’t prodded Harry. Harry was far worse at this game of pretend than Louis was. Harry was the weak link in their chain of lies and Louis could only hope that Liam hadn’t pushed too hard. That he hadn’t asked the wrong question. With a sigh, Louis tore the comforter off of himself and stepped out of bed, pausing only to fill a backpack with a bottle of red wine and the snacks he’d picked up during his conversation with Caitlin.

This wasn’t going to be fun. Facing Liam again just _couldn’t_ be fun.

 

...

 

The door to Liam’s apartment was thrown open half a second after Louis finished knocking. Liam draped an arm around his shoulder and mumbled ‘Tommo’ before leading him to the back of the flat. There, sitting on the couch in the make-shift little studio with a guitar on his lap was Louis’ first and last hope and dream. It had only been hours, but Louis felt like he’d been starved for months. Harry smiled brightly at him, about to open his mouth, but then Liam was speaking.

“Why don’t you play him what we’ve got so far, Harry?” Liam was smiling at Louis, arm still draped around his shoulder, “were writing a love song. It’s not finished yet, but it’s good so far. Harry’s proper good at writing. The guitar part is just right, we just need another verse to round things out. Whattaya say, Harry?”

Harry looked down at the guitar in his lap, “‘s not done. I want Louis to hear the whole thing. Can I play it for you tomorrow?”

It felt like someone had drained the air from the room. Despite the fact that Liam’s arm was still around him, it was as though he and Harry were the only people in the room. Harry’s green eyes were locked on Louis’ gaze and the whole world could have been watching but there was no way Louis could look away. There was no way he could pretend anything. God, they were so bad at this.

“Of course,” the words felt foreign, like he tongue wasn’t used to addressing Harry like this.

Louis realized, then, that all the fear that had been collecting amongst his spinal fluid had disappeared. It had only been hours ago that he’d spoken to his mother, but somehow that fear was gone. Somehow Harry had already eased it. How was that possible?

Harry stood, placing the guitar on the couch. He smiled politely at Liam as he made his way over to he and Louis, “well I’ve had a really nice time today, Liam. I appreciate it. See you in the morning so we can finish this thing up?”

Liam nodded, returning Harry’s smile, his arm still draped around Louis.

“Great,” said Louis, meeting Harry’s eyes again. Harry’s answering smile was as muted as he could manage. Louis appreciated the effort, “then Styles, let’s go. We’ve got more Brooklyn to discover.”

 

Harry had practically started skipping toward the door when Louis had announced it was time to leave. There had only been a minor cloud of disappointment that had taken over his face when Liam insisted Louis join him on the balcony for a cigarette. Surprisingly, the very last thing in the world Louis wanted at that moment was a cigarette, but he’d agreed because obviously Liam wanted to talk to him. Louis dreaded what that talk might be, but he bravely stood next to Liam and lit his cigarette, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Look,” Liam started, and Louis felt his stomach drop. He really didn’t want this conversation. He wished Harry had followed them out. “I’m sorry about this morning. I’m sorry I said that stuff and pissed you off.”

Louis blew the smoke from his lungs and buried his hand deeper into the pocket of his jumper. “It’s fine, mate.”

“Yeah, well I’m still sorry. I didn’t mean to make it into a thing. He’s really great, though. It’s kind of none of my business either way, but whatever you decide he is to you, friend or something else, seems like he’d be good at it. Like he’d be good for you. His heart is…big— _good_. He’s a solid lad and I only spent a few hours with him.” Liam took a pause then, lifting his cigarette to his lips. He took a drag and started speaking again, “and like I said, it’s none of my business, but you look good. Well, at least when you’re not worried about what I’m thinking.”

Louis laughed in time with Liam at that because fucking damn him. Damn Liam recognizing what he saw.

“But yeah,” said Liam when they’d both reached the end of their cigarettes, “you don’t have to say anything, not unless you want to. I just thought I’d apologize because I was out of line. Whatever Harry is... it’s just good to see you smile again.”

 

...

 

Harry was standing behind Louis in the elevator and somehow all that Louis could think about were Liam’s words. It was nice to see him smile again? When had Louis ever _not_ smiled? Was he really so incomplete as a person that people noticed a difference? He wasn’t sure if it was something worth being offended about.

Soon he felt Harry grip onto his hand and feed his fingers through Louis’. Harry placed his head neatly on Louis’ left shoulder and pressed his body flush against his back.

“Hey Lou?” He asked quietly as his other palm came to rest on Louis’ stomach.

Louis leaned back into him—he couldn’t help it, “young Harold?” He tried to sound a titch less serious than he felt on the inside.

Harry giggled once, pressing his lips against Louis’ neck, “I love you.”

A warmth spread through Louis’ bones as he remembered... yeah. That was something they said now. That was something he could tell Harry any time he wanted and Harry was probably going to respond by saying it back. When did the world become such a simple straight forward, 1+1=2, Louis + Harry = love, kind of place?

When had Louis become a 12 year old with his first crush?

“Hey Harold?” He said as he turned to face Harry. Harry’s hands moved to pull him closer, resting on each of his ass cheeks. Louis grinned up at the green eyes that he was now constantly lost in, “you complete me.”

Harry let out a tiny laugh before pressing his lips against Louis’, “Nicholas Sparks could never have written a romantic lead as perfect as you.”

They snogged slowly for the rest of the elevator’s decent. Louis didn’t think there was a single thing in the world that could ever ruin their moments. The bad things that surrounded them just never seemed to matter. They never seemed to affect them. Surely that said all that needed to be said.

 

…

 

“Where are we going?” Harry asked as he tripped along behind Louis. It was hard to breathe behind the hospital mask he was wearing, but Louis was walking with such purpose he was doing his very best to keep pace.

“Haven’t got a clue, love,” Louis said turning to flash Harry a smile and a wink.

This was it, wasn’t it? This was everything Harry had dreamt of for his entire life. Somehow even with every mistake he’d made up until that point, Harry was very aware of the fact that he was currently living in the perfect moments of his life. He was going to look back at these days for the rest of his life and remember all the little ways that Louis made him fall in love with him. These were the glory days. These were the days before everything would fall apart and he and Louis would have to fight to make a life for themselves out of the wreckage.

Harry knew these things. They were inevitable. He would have to go through a lot of shit both in and out of the public eye before they could ever attempt to get these moments back, sans the trucker hat and hospital mask. That was why it was so crucial that Harry cherished them.

Of course, in the back of his mind he still worried that maybe they would never get this again. Maybe someday Harry would be sitting on his tour bus staring out his window, watching as the New York skyline sped by and thinking about the one that got away. There was always the undercurrent of fear for their future because nothing was going to come easily once people found out about them. Harry was going to hurt people. He was going to break hearts and he worried most of all for the heart of the person leading his way through the back streets of Brooklyn. What if he broke Louis’ heart? What if all the trouble they were going to get into proved too much for Louis? What if in the end he didn’t like the person Harry would become?

Harry was going to lose his record deal. This was a given. He was going to probably lose every last thing he had and while he wanted Louis to pick him up and dust him off and remind him that all of that stuff didn’t matter anyway…well, what if Louis didn’t pick him up? What if he became too defeated and too pathetic and Louis couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore?

These fears weren’t unfounded. Harry had no idea who he’d wind up being at the end of this whole thing. Alternately, he also had no idea how it would change Louis. There was no way of knowing just how they’d come out of this…but it wasn’t a question. They had to try because these moments—when Louis reached out and grabbed his hand and dragged him down some alley that looked ‘only slightly dangerous’—well, those moments were it. They were everything and they were well worth the risk of his life and career and money and fame. All of those things paled in comparison to Louis’ laugh.

 

Harry snapped back into the moment when they reached the end of the alleyway and were staring at a gated community garden. Louis turned around and grinned at him and everything that was wrong in the world was somehow righted.

“Shall we?” Louis asked, a mischievous smile on his face. His hands were already on the gate though, like he knew Harry couldn’t say no to him.

“Are we allowed?” Harry asked as the gate squeaked open.

Louis shrugged and adjusted the back pack he was carrying, “don’t see anyone else here,” he responded like it was an answer to Harry’s question at all.

Harry didn’t hesitate at all, though, as Louis reached out his hand and lead him through the gates. The whole yard was fill primarily with large planters that were mostly beginning to die off as the cool air began to trump the warm summer months. Harry didn’t mind, though. The cool air felt nice as it tickled the back of his neck and turned Louis’ cheeks a pleasant shade of pink. At the very back of the garden was a bench, surrounded by only the last stubborn flowers still willing to grow as the whisper of October crept into the last week of September’s nights.

Once they were seated on the bench, Louis started to unpack the backpack he’d been carrying. He laid out an assortment of foods and a bottle of red wine. Louis seemed lighter in that moment. Lighter than he’d been around Liam that day.

“You’re feeling better?” Harry asked as he nibbled on a piece of cheese and watched as Louis began to uncork the wine.

“Wasn’t aware I was ever not feeling well,” Louis answered without really answering anything.

“Well,” Harry started, “just earlier with Liam. You seemed on edge. Him, too. Plus you kept going out to the balcony and I’m not assuming those were the nicest chats, just based on your body language, you know?”

“Jesus, Styles. You nosey shit. I’m fine.”

“So Liam wasn’t saying anything that bothered you?”

Louis shook his head curtly as he popped the cork out of the wine.

Louis was protecting him…or something. He wasn’t being completely honest about how he’d been feeling that day. That must mean something concerning him had happened. Louis would have been honest any other way.

“Did he say something about me?”

Louis handed the wine bottle to Harry after he took a long sip. He rolled his eyes, “it’s not worth talking about, Harry. Drop it.”

Harry stared at the ground. This was what he was worried about. These little things. All of these little things that Louis wanted to hide from him…they were going to add up and they were going to push Louis away. He wished Louis would just stop hiding and communicate with him .

The silence stretched on for a beat too long as Harry watched three ants carrying leaves back to the hole next to his left shoe.

Louis let out a sigh that sounded like he’d been holding in for too long, “Caitlin called me when you were with Liam. I wasn’t going to say anything because I just wanted us to have a nice time tonight. I just wanted…to pretend you could be mine, just for tonight.”

“Lou—“

Louis put up his hand and shook his head slowly, “no, I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?” Harry challenged, “because I was going to say I get it. I get how you feel and it only makes sense. I’m sorry I did any of this to you because it fucking _sucks_. It fucking sucks for me and every time I get too caught up in thinking about the stupid shit I’m going to lose…I just think about you. I think about how you didn’t ask for any of this and how good of a person you are. How good of a brother and a son you have been all these years and how much you deserve to have someone that can give you the things I’m not. I just constantly think about how much you must want to just give up, you know? I’m always thinking about how much you must resent me—but I’m still here. Do you know how much easier it would be to run away? It would be so much easier for either of us to just cut our losses and walk away—but we’re not. I’m not walking away and I’m not going to because you’re it Louis. You’re the start of this love story and you’re going to be the end, too. You’re going to be there right at the final chapter of my life and you’re the god damn reason that the sun keeps coming up every single day and I just love you like I never thought was possible. Maybe it’s a mess, but we’ll clean it up. We’ll figure it out because, Louis Tomlinson, I _am_ yours. I always will be. We never have to pretend.”

The sides of Louis’ mouth quirked up in a small smile and Harry’s stomach suddenly housed an iceberg. Every single feeling Louis made him feel was amazing—but _this?_ This tripping over his own feet and blushing like Louis was his first crush as a teenager? Well maybe that was the best.

“Well, when you put it that way,” Louis shrugged, placing a cool hand against the back of Harry’s neck and sending tendrils of pleasure down his spine.

Louis leaned in then, lips soft at first, placing a shy kiss against Harry’s lips. He pulled back for only a brief second, whispering “I love you, Harry,” before connecting his lips with Harry’s again. Slowly, Harry opened his mouth against Louis, tasting red wine and olives and the taste that he’d now memorized as being distinctly ‘Louis’. Their tongues twirled and the food between them was slowly pushed to the ground as Louis climbed onto Harry’s lap. The kiss deepened and Harry’s hands found themselves all over Louis. He slid them under his shirt, seeking heat against his skin. He buried them in Louis hair, tugging and savouring the moans and the nips that Louis gave to him.

They kissed as the sun made it’s slow decent from the sky and kissed more as their picnic was forgotten and as their lips turned raw. The cool air bit at their skin as they rushed to feel each other. Louis had whispered something about hoping that Harry wasn’t opposed to being blown on a park bench in the middle of the city. Harry had responded by bucking up into Louis’ hands and making sure that he knew just how much he _didn’tfuckingmindatall._ Louis had snickered and whispered something Harry couldn’t quite remember through the haze that Louis was creating in his mind. Louis' fingers fumbled against he button of Harry’s jeans, muttering about how cold his hands were. The heat, the rush that dominated the moment made it almost impossible for them to know they were no longer alone in the tiny garden.

That was until they heard the voice that accompanied their intruder.

“Hey! You can’t be in here.”

The world rushed back into the moment then and Louis pulled back from Harry’s lips and met his eyes. Instead of panic, Harry saw mirth as Louis grinned at him. _Run_ he mouthed at Harry as he quickly climbed off of Harry’s lap, thrusting the stupid mask back into Harry’s hand. Harry pulled it on quickly as Louis grabbed the bottle of wine and Harry’s hand and they started running, laughter falling effortlessly as they abandoned their picnic and ran for safety.

 

They must have run for half a block before Louis was pulling Harry into a dead-end alley between two restaurants and pressing him against the cool bricks. He pulled the mask down and pressed his lips against Harry’s, his tongue licking against Harry’s bottom lip.

“Let’s stay up all night,” Louis whispered as he started to softly suck on the sensitive skin of Harry’s neck, “let’s get into all kinds of trouble, yeah?”

 

…

 

It was 4:30 in the morning as Harry dangled his legs into the empty pool and sipped the watery hot cocoa they had gotten at some 24 hour coffee shop they’d stumbled on as they walked down the streets. The world was strangely quiet around them and no one had even bothered to give them so much as a second glance as they walked for miles and miles down the streets of (probably) Brooklyn. Harry wasn’t sure though. They’d walked so long and so far that they could have been halfway to Jersey by then.

He didn’t mind, though. There was a sort of magic to the night as they walked hand in hand and forgot how to care about anything but the warmth of each other. They’d spoken about absolute bullshit as they’d handed the bottle of wine back and forth. When that had run out, they’d stopped off and bought another one and continued to walk. Louis had mused about anything and everything and the romantic tone to his voice was intoxicating. By the time they reached the bottom of the second bottle Louis’ cheeks were flushed and he was leaning into Harry for support. Harry relished the feeling of Louis’ body against his and lead them without any real purpose down more streets, the road signs all blurring in his mind.

Now, though, they were tired and they’d slowed their walk when they’d stumbled upon an empty swimming pool, stained green and full of recently fallen leaves and dirty puddles. Harry stared out into it, dimly lit by the street lights and leaned his weight against Louis’ shoulder. If the night never came to a close, if the sun never decided to rise, it would be too soon. Harry didn’t know when it would get to be like this again. He wanted to stay in this moment for the rest of his life. Fuck everything else.

“Do you…” he started, not really knowing how to word what he wanted to say, “do you ever…like, think about the future? About the things you want to have some day?”

Louis’ arm was wrapped around Harry, his hand under Harry’s shirt and his palm pressed against Harry’s hip. He squeezed Harry tighter before he answered, “I guess I’ve always been too busy living in the moment, just thinking about work stuff. Pretty much the opposite of the rest of the world. Doesn’t everyone try to live in the moment when they’re obsessively hanging on the idea of ‘what’s next’?”

“Yeah, but you’re not like the rest of the world, Lou.”

Louis snickered. Harry stayed quiet for another moment as he listened to a squirrel yelling at someone (presumably them) angrily. There were 10 million things he wanted to ask Louis, but he was never quite sure what questions would upset him.

“So you don’t…think about getting married or whatever?”

“‘Or whatever’” Louis mocked with his best posh accent, “nah, can’t really think about getting married now, can I Styles? Doesn’t look like that’s exactly in the cards for me.”

Harry knew what he was getting at. Harry was already married. Another reality that was constantly threatening to rule this moment and every one they might have in the future. A reality that Harry needed to deal with so that Louis could understand that there was nothing on earth that wasn’t in the cards for him. Harry need to prove that he could give Louis every last thing he could think to want.

“Yeah, but down the road…do you think you’d want that someday?”

Louis shrugged, “I want…” he sighed in frustration before shrugging again.

“No, Lou, what do you want?”

“Right now?” Said Louis, because ‘right now’ was al he’d ever really known, “just you. I just want you.”

Harry pressed his lips against Louis’ cheek and smiled at him like the smitten teenager he was, “done. Done and done, Louis, I love you.”

Louis smiled and turned to face Harry. Harry’s heart hammered against his ribcage, stunned that one person could be every ounce of beauty in the world, “and I love you, Harry, baby.”

 _Baby. Harry, baby._ Why did one stupid word give Harry’s whole body permission to jump into hyperdrive?

“Have you thought about other things…like, besides getting married?”

“Yes, Harry Styles, you great oaf, I’ve thought of many other things in the past 30 years,” Louis deadpanned.

Harry threw his head back and laughed—it was barely even funny, Louis’ cutting sarcasm, but it stirred up all kinds of things within Harry, “no, you arse. I mean other things in the future.”

Louis’ hand had migrated from Harry’s hip and was now rubbing soft circles against his lower back, “you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I just thought…like with how you are with your sisters and everything. How you were there with them while they grew up that maybe…”

“Maybe, what?”

“I want kids,” Harry blurted, “I want kids, like yesterday. Before the music thing…every time someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said I wanted to be a daddy. I just…do you want that?”

Louis’ hand froze in place and _dammit_. Everything was a landmine. No matter how hard Harry tried not to upset Louis, he was always crossing the line.

Louis cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, “I hardly think _I’m_ the proper romantic interest in your life to ask that question to.”

Harry felt the words singe his skin, the burn resonated deep in his chest. Of course Louis would say that. There was a constant undercurrent of jealousy in Louis’ words…and Harry didn’t know why. There was no contest, nothing to be _jealous_ of. Harry’s marriage was a mess. He was married to a lovely person. A person who he didn’t mind eating all you can eat sushi with and laughing over bad Netflix movies with…but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as what he had with Louis—not by a long shot. Caitlin didn’t make him feel any of the things Louis did. Caitlin didn’t make him want to be a better person…she didn’t give him the things that Louis did. How could Louis think for even a second that Harry wasn’t being genuine when he said that? Wasn’t it written across all of his features that be _belonged_ to Louis. Belonged to him in that eternal sort of way that altered his very soul?

“Louis,” Harry’s voice held a warning. He was trying to tell Louis he was _wrong_. How dare he ever think Harry wanted those things with someone other than him?

“Harry,” Louis’ voice was cool, as was Harry’s skin where Louis had removed his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re try to do here, but stop.”

“Stop what, exactly?” Snapped Louis, “stop reminding you that you’re married to someone who happens to have the correct anatomy to give you a family? Don’t be a fool. I can’t do that for you. I can’t give you kids, that’s just science, I’m not 'trying to _do'_ anything.”

“Stop it,” Harry parroted himself.

Louis let out a huff and chucked his paper cup into the pool. Harry watched as it splashed into a mossy green puddle and waited for Louis to continue.

The silence dragged on for an agonizing few moments, Harry wishing he could backtrack and remove the question from the conversation. He just…he just wanted that. He wanted that stupid boring life he’d always wanted—but most of all he wanted it with Louis. It was the first time in his life that he was actually looking into someone’s eyes that he could see a future in. It was the first time he’d ever met someone that he thought might compliment him in all of his shortcomings as a parent. Maybe he was rushing it, putting too much pressure on a sore spot, but he couldn’t help it. Louis' lips tasted like the promise of growing old together and front porches and grand babies…and Harry didn’t mind that.

“Caitlin doesn’t want kids,” Harry said finally, conceding to Louis’ prolonged silence and accepting that he was going to have to fill in the gap. “I think that was one of the first reasons I realized we weren’t really meant to be together. Her dad has been telling me for years that she’s going to change her mind, but I don’t think its going to happen. I don’t think that is something she’s willing to compromise on…”

Louis remained silent. Harry felt a pang of hurt in his gut. How dare he not accept that Harry was trying to fix it?

“Not that I’d want to compromise. Not that I think she should have to compromise with me, anyway. Things with us…they’ve always been about which one of us has to give in this time and I personally don’t think that’s how any kid should be brought into this world.”

Louis still wasn’t speaking. One more try. Harry still owed him one more try.

“But I mean, that’s not really the problem though, is it? We’re not—Caitlin and I aren’t _happy._ She’s not happy and for all that she tries to pretend to be, she’s not getting the things she wants. She never just wanted to be the nameless pretty thing that stands next to the man she’s married to. She’s more than that…she’s brilliant and she used to shine so bright, but I think I stole some of that from her. Like I tarnished her or something because it’s always about compromising something and who wants to live like that?” Harry swallowed against the lump in his throat, “but it’s not like that with you, Louis. Even with all the shit we argue about, even with how fucking stubborn you can be, it never feels like compromising. It never feels like I might not get what I want because, wouldn’t you know, what I want is just what you want. I just want to see you smile. I just want you to have every last thing you want. That’s all I want and I would be the luckiest man in the world if you just let me do that for the rest of my life.”

Louis grumbled slightly, but Harry couldn’t understand any real words. He would wait it out, though, because now Louis’ warm hand was resting on his back again. Slowly, Louis started rubbing sort circles and staring into the empty pool. He tossed a couple of rocks into the giant hole but remained quiet. A full five minutes must have passed before Harry finally heard Louis’ voice.

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I’ve thought about kids. Lots, actually. But I never wanted to do it like me mum. It just looked so hard, five kids all on her own. I never thought I’d meet someone, so I just kind of gave up on the idea. It wasn’t something I wanted to do on my own.”

“You wouldn’t have to do it on your own,” Harry hoped his voice conveyed how serious he felt.

“I always like the name Sophie,” Louis’ voice held a sort of dreaminess to it. He pulled Harry closer then.

Harry nuzzled into his neck, breathing his words against Louis' skin, “I like Declan for a boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Instagram @feels.like.home01


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